Fighting Fishbowls
by baylop
Summary: As much as Zane tries to, he can't move on. But then, neither can Riley. AU Future-fic. Threeshot.
1. Into the Airwaves

**Note:** I started writing this with the full knowledge that it wouldn't be 100% canon. But with the (relatively) happy ending to _Now or Never_, it's gone from slight-AU to full-blown AU status, since I've altered the universities and career aspirations of some of the graduating class, put prom before graduation, nixed all of that gun-at-the-dance ridiculousness, etc. Basically, if something happened in "Take a Bow" or "Dead and Gone", it probably isn't reflected here.

I guess this fic explores a scenario in which everything is less…immediately convenient, where Riley and Zane aren't going to the same school right off the bat and Mrs. Stavros takes longer to accept her son. Don't get me wrong, I'm _so glad_ Riley and Zane got some kind of closure on the show. They're practically endgame, and that's a lot more than most Degrassi couples can say. So to that end, I'd like to write another Mama Stavros POV at some point, one that _does_ fit in with canon.

But for now, here's this…thing. I don't normally do multi-chaptered fics, but this got way too long to make it a one-shot. It's another "Zane perspective", and while it's easier for me to write Riley (I can admit that), I wanted to give Zane more of a chance to develop. Lots of places in this are completely made up, but since Degrassi invents things like "Eastern" and "Facerange", I don't find that to be too problematic.

* * *

><p>Zane sees him at the other end of the dance floor on prom night. Black tux, skinny tie. Lopsided smile. They haven't spoken since <em>that night<em>, and sometimes, Zane has watched Riley almost make an effort to start a conversation before walking away.

For his part, he hasn't bothered, partly out of anger and frustration, but mostly because…well…what good would it do? They'd still be arguing over the same things—everything just _hurts_—and he's trying to finish Grade 12 in a respectable mood. And at this point, the less he sees of Riley, the more he can pretend that everything is _fine_.

Just. Fine.

Anya usually tries to serve as the go-between, but really, all she does is talk to both of them and reveal absolutely _nothing_. Speaking of which…

"You should ask him to dance," she shouts over the blasting speakers, looking absolutely radiant in her pink dress. "He'd like that."

Zane shakes his head. "Not a chance. This is hard for both of us. But I can't…I can't afford to get _close_ to him anymore. In any capacity besides our old one."

Anya tucks a pesky strand of hair behind her ear and smiles sadly. "So there's no possibility of you guys _just being friends_? Graduation's right around the corner; you'll be headed in different directions. This is kind of, well, it. You could at least _try_ to leave on good terms."

Zane laughs, and it's nearly genuine. "I have a feeling you've said the exact same thing to Riley tonight."

Anya tries to look innocent as she disappears back into the crowd, where Owen is waiting. "You could always go over there and ask him, you know."

(He doesn't, of course.)

.

Graduation proves to be a bit of an emotional roller coaster. As expected.

After the ceremony, he walks over to his parents in his blue cap and gown, smiling widely and trying to push everything else far, far away.

It's almost over.

"We're so proud of you," his mother says, hands clasped over her heart.

"This is only the beginning," his father adds. "It's quite the journey from here, kiddo."

Zane looks around. He watches as Anya cries quietly with her parents, hugging them tightly, sees as Sav poses for a family photo that Alli takes. Holly J talks excitedly with Fiona, who will be back at Degrassi next year—a few credits short.

He keeps looking. And looking. The students become a forceful blue sea.

"Riley's not here," Chantay calls, walking past him to her own waiting family. "His parents dragged him off, like, right after."

Zane swallows. "How did you…"

She eyes him teasingly. "Please. I _was_ the esteemed writer of the Anti-Grapevine. And you two and your moodiness were _so_ not the best kept secret these last few months."

He nods weakly. So Riley's gone. Just like that. And now…

"Of course, you could probably still catch him, if you hurry. I saw him heading off towards the south parking lot…"

Chantay points a violet polished finger in the intended direction, and he manages a small smile of gratitude before taking off. It feels almost cliché to run—and in his graduation attire no less—but he's a little beyond caring. By the time he reaches the parking lot, Riley and his parents are very easy to spot. Nearly everyone else is still lingering around the school, delaying the inevitable.

_But not them_, he thinks. _Not his parents. _

Mr. and Mrs. Stavros are already in the car, buckled up, and Riley has a leg through the door, he's about to go, and—

"HEY!" Zane shouts, stopping about twenty feet from the vehicle, heart pounding and cheeks red. His hands ball into tight fists, slightly obscured by the long sleeves of his gown. And he's pretty sure his cap's not quite centered.

Riley turns around, bites his lip. Says something to his parents before walking over, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his slacks.

He puts a safe distance between them.

(Or maybe a little bit more than safe.)

They stay silent for a while, eyes locked and searching. Hesitant. _Regretful_. Finally, Riley clears his throat. "You uh…you didn't change yet…"

"Well, I—you were about to _leave_, and—"

"I was going to say something, talk to you…I _wanted_ to, but I thought things would go…you know, _easier_ this way."

Zane looks down at their shoes, black and shiny against the pavement. "I seriously doubt that."

"Yeah. I mean…sorry. I mean—"

"So when do you leave for Eastern?"

"In two weeks."

"That's…kind of early."

"Well, with football and stuff, you know…"

Zane nods, looking up again to meet Riley's eyes. "Right. I'll be gone in a month and a half. For Capshaw."

Riley smiles ruefully. "So I've heard. We'll both be south of the border. Different states, though."

A car honks twice, and Riley shuts his eyes and sighs. Zane looks over his shoulder and sees Riley's father at the wheel, and his mother with her head turned back towards them.

Watching them.

"I should probably go," Riley says quietly.

"Yeah."

There's a pause, and as the seconds pass, Zane starts to feel fuzzy and hollow. The air becomes tight. Everything seems to ache, and it's the feeling that he's been trying to avoid for _weeks _now, and this was such a mistake, such a terrible, horrible mistake, because—

"You're gonna be an awesome engineer someday," Riley grins, eyes filled with too many wistful things. "Capshaw's lucky to have you. And I want…just…_be happy_, okay?"

And Zane…

Zane hugs him.

With a shaky sigh, he buries his face into the crook of Riley's neck, breathing in strong soap and just a touch of spice. His hands grab vehemently at Riley's back, wrinkling his silver dress shirt as he pulls _tight tight tight_.

The car honks again, and Zane forces himself to lean back a little, rocking on his feet. He tries to keep his voice even. Eyes clear. "I'll uh, be looking for you on the TV. Considering that our schools are in the same conference and all."

Riley flushes. "Well, guess I can't afford to suck on the field, then…"

Zane shakes his head. "You won't."

Taking a deep breath, Riley steps fully out of his embrace. And this…this is the part where they're supposed to say _goodbye_, or _see you around_, or _have a good life_—but Zane doesn't want to say any of those things.

So he whispers "good luck", watches as Riley raises a hand and playfully fixes his cap before framing his face, feels as Riley brushes his lips softly over his forehead; breath warm and sweet like the peppermint gum he always chews.

Anything more, and they'd never get around to leaving.

(It's for the best. It has to be.)

So Zane looks on as Riley trudges back to his parents, hears the crinkling of gravel as the car speeds off, away and out of sight. The sunlight burns hot on his back. There's a ringing in his ears.

And above all, he tries to ignore the heavy weight settling deep into his chest.

.

His dorm at Capshaw University has six floors and unfortunately, he's assigned a room up at the top. So it takes over half a day's worth of effort to get everything situated, fighting for the elevator and taking long treks back to the nearby parking lot. But it's worth it once it's done.

His roommate Paul seems to be the solitary type, reclining comfortably on the bottom bunk with his earbuds and worn copy of _The Arabian Nights_, but Zane manages to coax the guy out to have lunch with his parents. Around them, people hug and snivel and quarrel, full of swirling, jittery emotions—new students and their parents, old friends reuniting, school spirit and class schedules and club signups and—

It's a new start. It's _exciting_.

His parents cry a little, wish him well, and as he waves goodbye, he knows that everything will work out.

It will be good for him here. A forward progression.

(A much needed one.)

.

Zane has an 8 a.m. biology class all the way on the other side of campus, but he likes the peaceful morning walk it allows for. The sky is so pale, a smudged gray, and the grounds are nearly barren of people, save for a scattered few rushing with their coffees and tightly clutched bags. The auditorium is one of Capshaw's largest, an old room with older desks and seats that squeak precariously.

On the third class day, a mousy-haired boy sits next to him, blue eyes keen and easygoing.

"I'm Brian," the young man introduces, tapping his pen and leaning over ever-so-slightly.

"Zane. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Is this your first semester?"

Zane raises an eyebrow. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not because of you, but the class," Brian explains, hair falling into his eyes. "It _is_ general bio…"

Zane nods. "Makes sense. So are you a science major?"

"Nope. Math—this is just a core class for me."

"Well, are you _good_ in science?"

Brian shrugs a shoulder. "I'm average in it, I suppose. And you?"

"I tend to be fairly capable. Not to sound big-headed, or anything."

"Ah," Brian grins, his smile so bright it does a funny thing to Zane's stomach, "then I might need to get to know you better."

Zane has always been astute, so he recognizes that the look Brian gives him is flirty one.

Cautiously flirty.

And he…_this is how it's_ _done_, he thinks. This is how you start again, by taking chances and being open for the ride along the way, with all of its disappointments and triumphs.

It's time. He breathes deeply. _It's really time. _

"I'd like that," he finally answers back, giving Brian an overly-friendly look of his own.

.

When Brian kisses him in the lobby of a local movie theater on their second date, Zane is somewhat surprised at the gentleness of it. He's not expecting the way Brian presses a hand to his lower back, pulling him in to a point, and there's the barest hint of tongue, the taste of salted butter from the popcorn they shared. It's not anything like his other first kisses, like being nudged against the wall of an art studio, lips pressed chaste and thoughtful.

It's not like being yanked into something hard and hopeful either, next to a cab on a warm night. Still feeling flushed from dancing and having fun, and getting a bit lost in blue eyes that are a little unsure, a little hesitant, but undoubtedly kind. And then after, wide smiles that burn as bright as the streetlights, and riding home with a stupid, elated feeling, and _no, no, no_.

(Forward march.)

"So what took you so long?" Zane asks, scrunching his nose and shutting everything else out.

"Well, I _was_ waiting to get you alone," Brian says, talking above the sound of boisterous moviegoers and squeezing the small of Zane's back tighter, "but you know, I don't really care who sees."

Zane takes a shaky breath, smiles tightly—because this is what he's always wanted, something completely assured, so why is this so _different_, what is this _feeling_—and grabs Brian's hand. Guides him out into the humid, afternoon air. Listens to the humming of the cicada chorus, high and scratchy.

Tries to forget everything else.

.

Zane can't get away from the college football season. He doesn't even try.

The media circus turns its wheels, picks up on Eastern University, runs with it, the _hey, did you hear about that new gay quarterback, a true freshman starter, look right here, see how he's out and willing to show his face, oh what drama, how will the fans react_, and it's almost a sick feeling to be so distant from it all. There's the news, the papers, the sniping blogs, but he's here and Riley's over _there_, hundreds of miles away. He thinks about calling him, dwells on it, wonders if his cell number's still the same. He nearly does, but then he catches this one interview, sees Riley's face for the first time in _months_, watches his mouth move, his steely gaze. Hears his voice.

And Riley is more collected, more measured than he's ever seen.

He's probably being coached somewhat, Zane realizes, but it's still _Riley_ in there; it's not fake. It's just controlled. Even. Positive. And Zane can see his nervousness wedged deep down, the trace of fear, but Zane's never been more _proud_ of him.

Riley is…

"What's with you?" Brian asks, as they sit together on his bed in his dorm room. "You're shaking."

Zane shrugs, rubs away the barest touch of wetness in his eye before Brian can catch it. "It's nothing. I'm okay."

So he doesn't call, figures Riley doesn't need the distraction—he seems to be doing just fine without him as it is.

Even so, Zane watches every one of Eastern's games that he can. Obsesses over the news feeds.

(He can't seem to help it.)

.

By now, he's made a multitude of friends, and most of them are avid sports fans, or at least watch for the social outlet. There are the heated rivalries, but Eastern isn't a main one for Capshaw, mostly because Eastern simply outperforms them athletically in nearly every sport.

Football included.

So Zane goes to all of the home games, cheers on his team with the rest of his friends…and keeps checking the calendar. The Eastern game is the third to last of the regular season, and it's an away game.

(He doesn't know whether to be thankful or disappointed.)

It's the longest three and a half hours of his life, watching the game against Eastern live in the Wilson common room, surrounded by his friends. Sitting next to his _boyfriend_, who has a hand curled over his thigh.

"You're not hungry?" Brian questions, shaking the Doritos bowl in front of him.

"I just want to watch," he says softly, trying to appear relaxed when he is anything but. He's not used to watching Riley's games with so many _people_.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, follows the clusters of green and white jerseys, focuses on Eastern's number 17. Passes, rushes. Everything. The crowd cheers so loud it's deafening. _They cheer_. For him.

(He doesn't stop worrying.)

(He never does.)

Yet as it turns out, Eastern wins. Clobbers them—painfully so.

So by the end, he's the only one left smiling in the room, heart surging with too many emotions while everyone else groans and throws food and swears colorfully.

"That guy Stavros can really play, and he's only a damn freshman," Brian mutters, almost in reluctant amazement. "All that pressure. I can't even imagine what that's like."

"You can do almost anything for the things you love," Zane says, observing as Riley darts his eyes onscreen, microphones shoved in his face. He watches as Riley talks, sees his exhausted smile. "It's amazing, really. _He's_ really…"

Brian pokes him. "Hey, don't start crushing. You've got _me_. And besides, a guy like that is definitely taken. And far away. And…I bet he wouldn't give _either_ of us the time of day."

"Of course," Zane says, smiling mostly to himself.

.

A year and five months pass.

And they're absolute hell, mixed with a touch of discovery and a new direction. He moves into an apartment in his second year. Ends his first college relationship (Brian). Starts up a new one (Andy). Starts many new things.

So many he loses count.

(And it's a turning point. For everything.)

.

For a good five minutes after reading the acceptance letter, Zane sits at the foot of his bed, hands dangling over his knees. He shuts his eyes. Sighs. And reads it again. Just to be sure.

_Dear Mr. Park:_

_Congratulations! You've been admitted to Eastern University. Along with President Richard H. Young, I invite you to become part of the Salamander family and…_

It's real. And…he should be happy. Proud. The feeling of accomplishment should be sweeping through him.

And it does. But…

He'd applied back in the fall, coming into his second year at Capshaw University. And it wasn't like Capshaw was _terrible_ or anything—quite the opposite really, considering the school's prestige and the many friends he'd made—but he'd finally found his career path.

And it wasn't engineering. Not anymore.

In his first year at school, he'd taken up a part-time veterinary assistant job, eager to boost his work experience. In a few weeks, he'd worked his way up to becoming a tech, gotten his certification, and loved every minute of interacting with the animals and their owners. Loved talking endlessly with the veterinarians. He'd wanted, with the utmost certainty, to become one. So he'd done the research, taken the appropriate classes, and found the best vet schools…in America, considering that he was here already and money (thankfully) wasn't an issue. It would be extremely difficult, with the residency favoritism and competitive pool, but things worth doing often were.

He was ready for the challenge.

So he'd applied to three universities, ones that had both veterinary and pharmacy programs; with pharmacy being his "plan b", as it were. Being admitted to any of them wouldn't increase his chances of getting into their vet schools, but he'd be _physically_ closer. He could meet the faculty, get to know the campus…all while working to meet the requirements to pursue his dream.

And yet now…

Now he sits on his bed in late spring. The acceptance letter from Brine had come in last week. The one from Albright had arrived two days ago. Clicking his teeth, he runs his fingertips over the final letter, the one from Eastern.

It's the best school of the three. The one known to take in the most foreign students. And the one where Riley—

"Hey gorgeous. What's with the dreary face?"

Yanked out of his thoughts, Zane tries to smile up at the sandy-haired boy looming over him. "Andy. Glad to see you're making use of the key I gave you. How was class?"

Andy shrugs, his green eyes tired and sullen. "Oh, you know. Total yawn-fest. Managed to stay awake this time, though. I suppose that can be considered an accomplishment."

Zane laughs in earnest. "Well, you're just bored. Not everyone can understand the intricacies of o-chem like you…"

"Right, yeah. Pure _monotony_. But…you didn't answer my question."

"What?"

Andy crosses his arms. "The _reason_ for your tortured expression…"

Zane blinks. "I uh, I got into Eastern and—"

"So that makes you three out of three," Andy says, grinning wickedly and giving him a slow clap. "You silly goose. Why'd that make you warp into angst-central? I mean, it's good news, right? You can pick where to go now."

"Yeah, I can pick. It's just…it's a little complicated."

"Going to Eastern isn't complicated, babe."

Zane looks away. "Why would you assume I'd go _there_? Brine and Albright are—"

"Decent schools, but Eastern is…well, Eastern, tiny rivalry-bias and lame mascot aside. World-class institution, renowned vet program, _stellar football team_…"

The last part Andy narrows his eyes for.

Zane scratches his neck. Digs his feet into the carpet. Tries to appear neutral. "And what difference would the football team make on my decision?"

Andy lets out a disbelieving breath and pushes him down on the bed so he can straddle him. His voice is a teasing whisper. "I thought you _liked_ that team. You never miss watching a game, you follow the news…"

Zane makes a face that he hopes passes for annoyance. And only that. "I like football, _Andy_, and—"

"You also like Riley Stavros," Andy says smugly, beaming down at him. "But don't we all. Openly gay, talented QB with a crazy-accurate arm…what's not to _appreciate_? A guy can always dream. I certainly do—even though he's probably as dumb as a box of rocks. You know how those jock-types tend to be. Body without the brain. Though that _can_ be fun, in a way…"

The corner of Zane's mouth twitches. He stifles his annoyance at the jab, at who it's geared towards. "You don't…I kind of _am_ one of those jock-types."

"And thus an exception to the general rule. Not that you aren't _fun_."

"Well, I still need to sleep on it."

"That's fair. Even if we both know where you'll end up going."

Zane crosses his arms behind his head. "Meanwhile, you don't even seem the least bit bothered by me leaving…"

"We've been over this," Andy says, kissing him tenderly. "You know I will. But this is what you want. You have to go for it. I'll—"

"—be on to the next guy soon enough," Zane mumbles, looking away. It's not like he's even _mad_, but…

"Would it help if I said I love you?"

Zane frowns uncomfortably. "I thought we agreed that this was a casual thing."

"Right," Andy huffs. "Because giving me a key to your apartment and letting me fuck you and _dating for seven months _is—"

"Look, I don't…after…"

"After Brian in freshman year, you closed yourself off. I know. But it's like you…it's like you keep a part of yourself away, something you don't share, and—"

"You've been talking to Brian. That _sounds_ like Brian."

Andy shakes his head dismissively. "We run in the same circles. I talk to your ex sometimes. Big deal."

"It is to me. He and I…"

"Bad breakup, I know. But he said that you…"

Andy pauses like something has dawned on him. Slowly, he takes Zane's face in his hands. Looks at him delicately. "I love you."

Zane squirms. "Don't…"

"I love you, Zane."

They stay locked like that for a while, Zane pinned to the mattress and Andy holding him there with his eyes and hands. When he doesn't get an answer, Andy rolls off of him and stands. Gradually, Zane sits up, eyes trained on the navy comforter instead of his boyfriend.

"You can't say it back, can you?"

Zane doesn't look up. "It's not something I treat lightly."

"I get that," Andy drawls, more intrigued than anything else. Clinical. "So, have you ever said it to _anyone_?"

Zane swallows, but tries to meet Andy's eyes. "Yes, in high school. To a boy I used to play sports with."

(A flash of curly hair and a crooked smile leaves as soon as it comes.)

Andy smirks. Mumbles something about _hot team romances_ and locker room showers. "So anyways, I uh, brought dinner. Chinese. You hungry?"

"Sure," he says quickly, hopping off the bed. "Let's celebrate."

.

He calls his mother right away to let her know about the acceptance letter, and it's nice to hear her soothing voice over the phone.

"Oh, your father will be so ecstatic when he hears!" she says cheerily. "I assume it will be Eastern, then? We have so many plans to make…"

"I'm not sure," he says, legs pulled up to his chest on the couch. On the TV, _Midnight in Paris_ is playing, with the sound turned down low so he can hear his mother.

"Eastern's a wonderful university. Veterinary or pharmacy school, whatever you need, it's there for you."

"Albright and Brine have those options too. That's why I applied to all three."

"I just figured they were your backup choices, sweetheart," she says. There's a pause, a ticking silence, and then—"Isn't…Riley still at Eastern?"

Zane grimaces. "He is, but…"

Another pause. Longer. More pronounced. His mother sighs, the sound muffled through the receiver. "Oh honey, you—"

"Mom, he's _not_ a factor in this," he cuts in, tone a little too sharp. "I'm going there because it's what I want."

"So you _are_ going to Eastern then," she clarifies, a smidgen of amusement to her voice. "Your mind's made up?"

He breathes deeply. Sprawls out on the couch.

"Yeah."

.

It's a ten hour drive from Capshaw to Eastern. His parents fly down, rent a van, and together they load all the furniture from his apartment.

Around noon, Andy shows up to help out and say goodbye. And even though it's the end of their relationship, Zane is glad they're parting on friendly terms. He appreciates that it's not the shouting, _I-just-don't-matter-to-you-do-I_ breakup he had with Brian.

It's far more civilized.

"You know," Andy starts, sitting on the carpet surrounded by Zane's collection of books, "I'd say I hope everything works out for you, but I know it will. You're too…_you_ to ever screw up. One of your many natural talents, I suppose."

Zane just smiles as he tapes up a box. "I _will_ miss you."

"Yeah," Andy agrees, rooting around the remaining books. "But maybe over there you can find what it is that you're missing. For instance…"

Andy drops a copy of the 2011 Degrassi yearbook in his lap, and Zane blinks.

"Judging by page 32," Andy says casually, going back to gather more books, "it seems like you had a very fun senior year. Or _Grade 12_, as you call it."

Zane shifts his eyes, traces the book's binding. He knows what's on the page. To anyone less observant, it would seem harmless—a photo of the Panthers football team celebrating the last game of the season. But to Andy, it would be a picture of teenagers and their coach, with a now-famous boy standing in the center, a cheerleader in pigtails on his left and _Zane Park _on his right.

And that's…

He wants to ask Andy things like _how long have you known_ and _why were you snooping_, but it doesn't matter. It's not important.

"That year wasn't all fun," he says finally, biting the inside of his cheek. He can hear his parents talking with the movers in the other room. They'll be on the road soon.

Andy shrugs, stacks a box. "It meant enough for you to lug a stupid high school yearbook to college. So how did you two—"

"I'd rather not discuss it," he says quietly. Pleadingly.

Andy clucks his tongue, but drops the subject. And together, they finish packing the rest of the books…while talking about _anything else_.

.

It's astonishing to see Riley's jersey number being sold en masse in the bookstore. He fingers the fabric of one and can't help but smile. His new roommate Daniel walks up to him, bags in hand.

"Hey Zane! There you are. Got your books?"

"Uh…yeah," he says, stepping back a little to nudge the packages at his feet.

Daniel grins at him. "So I guess you're ready to cheer for the Salamanders? No hard feelings from being at Capshaw for two years?"

He shakes his head, picking up his books. "Eastern has the better team."

"And the better quarterback," Daniel adds, flicking his head in the direction of the jerseys. "You know, when he first came here, it was pretty crazy…the things people said…"

"I can only imagine," Zane says quietly.

Daniel folds his arms, bags swaying. "To be honest, I didn't think the guy would last. I mean, it's kind of ridiculous when you think about it: some gay, Canadian _freshman_ nobody who manages to land starter. Then the first few games rolled around and he just completely…you should've seen it," Daniel reminiscences, while Zane tries to act like this is all news to him, all brand new information, even though he remembers it just as vividly, "he was on _fire_, and that shut everybody up. Or…well, you know what I mean. Now it's business as usual—most people are just glad to have a winning team."

Zane gives a blank nod. "So here's to another great season, then?"

"You're damn right," Daniel says, heartily slapping his back and whacking him with his books in the process. "Alright. Let's drop these off at Harvil so we can go get lunch. You haven't _lived_ until you've eaten at Silver Dan's…"

.

It's quite a different experience to be standing in the stadium, listening to the crowd roar and the marching band play as the Eastern football team bounds onto the field, head coach Walter Gamby at the helm. Zane looks around at the audience that surrounds him—students with painted faces and kids clutching stuffed salamanders, couples pressed close and old people in green baseball caps—and it's a united mass of people rooting for their team.

Led by a quarterback who happens to be gay.

Daniel nudges him in the ribs and gives him one of those _dude-isn't-this-awesome_ looks before wrapping an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. It's a group of them all together, and on his right is a guy named Garrett who Daniel had insisted he sit by.

(Earlier, Daniel had introduced them by saying that Garrett was looking to_ get over his last_ _boyfriend_, _hint hint,_ and pointedly ignored Garrett's exasperated face and eye roll.)

"I've been waiting for this all week," Garrett says to him. "It's supposed to be a great matchup tonight."

"Sure is," Zane agrees, without taking his eyes off the field, where it's the strangest thing to be so _physically_ _close_—watching Riley talk with his teammates and the staff, witnessing the camaraderie—and to still be invisible and away from things, swallowed up inside the emerald crowd.

Garrett taps his shoulder, as if to get his full attention. "Daniel likes to think he's some great matchmaker for the ages, but you don't have to worry. I'm not looking to start dating again anytime soon."

Zane raises an eyebrow at him, a little thrown. "And how did you assume I wouldn't be interested?"

"Because you're too engrossed by the guys down there in uniform," Garrett says lightly, as if it amuses him. "I totally understand. Sometimes it's better to stick with fantasy. Relationships are just…such a _hassle_."

Zane cracks a smile. "Well, you have to work at them."

"And learn to move on," Garrett laughs, shaking his head slightly. "When it's time."

With great effort, Zane gives Garrett his politest nod before looking away.

He lets his eyes carry him where his heart wants to. And no one can tell him otherwise.

The crowd starts to bellow, a rumbling thing that sweeps through the stadium and brings everyone who isn't already standing to their feet. The game has started. He cheers with the rest, cheers for everyone.

But mostly for one.

.

The fall semester passes. He gets through his classes with top marks, continues to make friends—and doesn't pursue anyone.

Riley included.

He tells himself it's because he's busy—doing some work with the horses and cattle at a ranch near Eastern, volunteering at an animal shelter, studying constantly, getting to interact with his professors—but he knows better. Knows _himself_ better.

He's still hurt. And mad. Very mad. Madly in lo—

No. _No_.

It was almost easier at Capshaw, where he could feel a warm body, feel the beginnings of being _cherished_, and feel free enough to allow it to happen. To embrace the adventure.

But. _But_.

He couldn't. He couldn't give all of himself to Brian, couldn't keep things from Andy. He…didn't want to. He knows that now.

And. _And_.

He's in his dorm room at Harvil, talking with Daniel and packing for a plane trip home to Toronto to see his family for the winter holidays. Yet all the while, he can't help but wonder about Riley.

Still. _Still_.

He won't seek him out. _Riley was the one who ended it_, after all, dropped an anvil and left him to storm out of the Dot, searching for a cab and feeling dazed and broken. Now that they've parted, Riley still probably thinks he's at Capshaw studying to be a chemical engineer, getting on with his life and certainly _not being anchored to a high school romance_, but it doesn't matter. It shouldn't. He figures that if anything has changed, if Riley wants him in his life, he'll call. Email him. Find him.

So. _So_.

It's up to Riley. Who…must be doing well. Because nothing happens, and that's the way it stays.

(It's what's meant to be.)

(Surely.)

(Right?)

.

Upon arriving home, his mother embraces him tightly and says how much she's missed him. His father is waiting with a broad smile that mirrors his own; the prideful look in his eyes is so clear. They ask about Eastern in general, how his flight was, how his finals went. They want to know about his friends (he has many) and relationships (he has none), information he presents willingly but quietly, knowing what's coming next.

Slightly dreading it.

His father mentions how Eastern has had its best football season in years, with only a single loss. How he's kept up with the American news reports. How his son is attending a university with one of the finest football programs in the nation. How it's been a recent resurgence to excellence, built upon the strength of a handful of players. Marcus Williams, Cal Smith…

His mother is more direct: "So did you get in touch with Riley again?"

He shakes his head, motions to his bags in a _gee-I-better-take-care-of-these_ sort of way.

To which his mother responds with a knowing, _if-you-ever-want-to-talk-about-it _look, before letting him be and leading his father away, murmuring something in the older man's ear.

Zane stands in the living room with his things, feeling slightly childish because he's normally so open with his parents. About anything and everything.

But this is different. He's never wanted something _so much_—yearned and pined and spent too many nights thinking of _him_, the curve of his lips and the feel of his hands on his skin, his smile brightening up the room and making everything _better_—and done so little to try and go after it.

He watches Riley through a fishbowl, just like everyone else—observes what the public does, the Riley presented in the magazine articles and highlight reels. The Riley who's there for all to see, not the Riley who is ticklish behind his knees or the Riley who can easily fall back asleep brushing his teeth in the morning.

What's more, he can't seem to get out of his own fishbowl, either—can't take a leap and leave the safety and comfort of the glass behind. See where he lands. Flop around. Because then he'd have to push aside all of the baggage. Allow himself to be _vulnerable_ again.

(And he doesn't think he can.)

So how is he supposed to explain _that_?

.

"So did I tell you I finally sold the Holden piece?" Thomas says, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the table.

Zane takes another bite of his chicken salad, chews quickly. The Dot is fairly bustling despite Christmas being only three days away. "Remind me which one that was again?"

Thomas frowns at him. "I believe your no-good, sorry-excuse-for-an-ex referred to it as a _finger painting_…"

"Oh," Zane says distantly, watching a gaggle of high school girls talking (flirting?) with Peter at the register. "That one. Well, that's a good thing, right? Selling it, after all these years?"

Thomas sighs. "Don't placate me. It's probably going to end up in the woman's bathroom. Something she'll look at while she empties her bowels. And that's a true _travesty_. People with good taste are so hard to come by these days."

"Uh…yeah…"

"So why did you want to meet up _here_? The coffee is average at best, and I feel like an old bird surrounded by all of these high school brats."

Zane shrugs. "Nostalgia, I guess? This place is comfortable for me. It's been ages since I've been here."

"And I'm sure it holds such _wonderful_ memories," Thomas mentions, the words snide as he takes a sip from his mug.

Zane looks away.

Over by the window is where he'd waited to meet up with Riley for the first time, before being whisked away to a construction site instead. In the back corner, he'd usually have study sessions with Anya, Riley, and a few others, or be planning the LGBT meetings. At his current table, Riley had dropped a stack of racy magazines, miffed that his mother was denying his sexuality. Closer to the door, he'd sat and listened as Riley talked about his pretty _girlfriend_ on his 18th birthday, and refused to play along. And over at the bar was where Riley had…

"Hey," Thomas says quietly, touching his hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stir things up. You've been down enough as it is, lately."

"It's fine. It's practically a habit for you," Zane counters, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He can never stay mad at Thomas for long. "But you know, I've been thinking about calling him."

"Who?"

"Riley."

Thomas scrunches up his face. "Oh my gracious, no. Don't you dare. That's a wretched idea."

Zane glares at him. "Look, I know you don't exactly like the guy—"

"Because he's a clueless, brainless, try-hard poseur—"

"—but I'm slowly going crazy over here," Zane finishes, voice rising about Thomas' insults. "I need to hear from him."

"And that will accomplish what, exactly?"

"What do you mean?"

Thomas gazes at him studiously. "Well, you just don't want to _check-in_. Please. And you wouldn't settle for just being friends. No, you'd be in it for the whole enchilada," he says, smiling shrewdly.

Zane pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thomas, I swear to you, if I have to hear one more of your perverted food analogies…"

"Okay spoilsport, but you know I'm right. If you were to call Riley up right now, what would you say? 'Oh hey, how's it going? I hope you're still available, and oh, by the way, I recently transferred to Eastern and didn't bother to tell you. Hope that's okay.' Yeah Zane, that doesn't sound like a recipe for disaster _at all_."

Zane stares down at his caramel mocha and shakes his head. "I need to try, Thomas."

"Yeah, well, you've had two-and-a-half years to _try_, and you haven't, so…don't you think that says something?"

Zane takes a napkin off the table and starts shredding it to pieces. "Never mind. Just forget it."

He should've expected Thomas not to understand.

"Come on, don't be cross. Look, I've got a story that'll cheer you up…"

Thomas proceeds to recount a recent experience at a showing—about some piece that was so scandalous that an old lady actually broke down in tears, weeping at the current state of humanity—but Zane barely registers any of it.

(Though he's careful to keep a smile on his face.)

After an incomprehensible amount of time passes, Thomas stops gabbing suddenly, noticing something by the door that Zane can't be bothered to turn around and see.

Clearing his throat, Thomas props up his chin on a hand. "So in other news, have you had any issues with blonde stalkers lately?"

Zane gives him a funny look, his mind steering out of its irritated fog. "Uh, what? No…have you? You know how I've told you to watch it when it comes to the guys at the clubs…"

Thomas laughs airily. "No, dearest, not me. Take a gander behind you. There's a young lady who keeps looking this—oh, well, here she comes now…"

Zane turns his head in time to see a bubbly girl ambling over, with blue eyes and swishing, bottle-blonde hair, slightly curled at the tips. A girl with an all-too-familiar smile.

His eyes widen. "A-Anya?"

"_Zane_," she practically shrieks, clasping her hands and high heels clicking against the floor, "oh my…you have no idea how _ecstatic_ I am to see you. And here of all places!"

"Your hair…"

Anya twirls a lock of it and grins at him. "I wanted to try something new. How's it look?"

She pirouettes around once for him.

"Different," he says honestly, standing up to embrace her, "but the color looks wonderful on you. Really. Though I'm sure anything would suit you just fine."

"Oh, stop with the flattery," Anya chides with a smile, pulling back to look in his eyes. "But I must admit, I _have_ missed your constant kindness."

She pulls him into another hug, and Zane can nearly feel her bouncing a little on her feet. "We have to catch up," she insists, the words muffled into his shoulder. "Immediately."

"Sure thing," Zane says, looking back at Thomas, who seems merely bemused by Anya's energy. "Why don't you sit with us? You remember Thomas, right? Thomas Faron?"

"The art show regular," Anya recalls, stepping to the side to get a better look at him. "And…your old flame..."

Her words almost seem accusing.

"Ancient flame, ancient history," Thomas says, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. "It's all the same to me. As long as you aren't calling _me_ old."

Zane feels Anya take his hand, and he turns to look at her again. "So will you sit?" he asks. "We can reminisce...get up to speed…"

Anya bites her lip, shakes her head. "Would you come with me?" she asks quietly, squeezing his hand tighter. "Back to my place? I know it's been a while, but…"

Thomas bursts into a fit of giggles, and then looks at them apologetically. "Sorry, I'm…it just sounded like such a _proposition_, and—you know what…just ignore me. Sorry again."

Zane makes a face at Thomas before looking back at Anya. "Is everything alright? Can you…can you not talk about it here?"

"I can leave," Thomas offers loudly, finishing his coffee and face contorting as he swallows. "This swill is providing little incentive for me to stick around."

"No," Anya says, addressing the both of them. "Zane, I just…I'd _really_ like your company today." She chews at her lip, and Zane can see that she's slightly nervous, which strikes him as odd—she has no reason to be anxious around him. "I have so much to show you," she says quickly, firing on all cylinders. "I've…taken up photography…and you…I'd love your opinion on my work. If you could spare the time."

"Ah, a fellow artist," Thomas smiles, standing up. He pats Zane's back. "I'm all for it. Zane, go on—I'm tired of you moping around me. Maybe an old acquaintance is what you need to cheer you up."

"You're…moping?" Anya asks, expression unreadable. "Why?"

Zane runs a hand through his hair, gives Thomas an angry look as the older boy says his polite goodbyes and strolls out the door with a lazy wave. "I'm not _really_…"

He sighs. Manages a smile. Means it. "You know what? Let's go. I'll drive—my car's just two blocks away."

"Awesome," Anya beams, latching onto his arm and looking entirely too happy in a way that Zane can't quite place. "You won't regret it. Promise."

.

Anya's house is very much the way Zane remembered it last, from the lived-in furniture to the colorful wallpaper to the cluster of shoes and crooked coat rack by the door. He'd spent a considerable amount of time here in Grade 12; working on late-night projects for Perino or Dawes, or having Oscar movie marathons, just him, Anya…

And Riley. Always Riley.

He greets Anya's parents, Harold and Pam, with the utmost warmth. The two adults eye him in slight amazement, turning to their daughter as if to question her about something. But Anya just smiles at them, and gives them a _look_.

"I bumped into Zane at the Dot," she says, urging them to return to their spots on the couch. "He agreed to see my photography work. We'll just be…catching up."

"It was so nice to see you both again," Zane says, even as he feels that something is slightly off.

"This way," Anya calls, ushering him into a small, dim room upstairs and turning on the computer in the corner. "You're still at university, Zane?"

"Yeah," he says, thankful that she's not asking _where_ he's going. It's not like Anya would have a reason to assume he'd transferred elsewhere (he'd stopped using Facerange ages ago), and if she were to ask, he wouldn't lie to her. But mentioning Eastern now would only make the wheels in Anya's head turn, and not in a good way—he knows it.

"Well, I am too," she announces.

Zane's eyes widen in disbelief. "But what about the army?"

Anya shrugs. "During the middle of basic training I realized it wasn't for me, after all. I was getting through everything just fine, I could handle it, but…I'd rushed into things. I'd been so _desperate_ to find something that I could do after graduating, you know? And then when I dropped out…I was pretty bummed to be right back where I'd started. A mess, actually."

"Uh, when you say mess…"

"Not a _coke head mess_, just…a regular mess," she laughs, like she's really moved past it, which he's glad for. She takes a seat in front of the keyboard, and has him sit on the stool next to her. "With everyone off doing their own thing, I needed a distraction while I was trying to figure out what I'd do next. My dad had bought me a camera as a graduation gift, and I'm sure you remember all of the pictures I took that day…"

Zane nods with a smile, recalling how Anya had corralled people together in their graduation attire and hustled back and forth to "capture the perfect moment".

"This was most of my work from that day," Anya says, opening up a file to reveal over a hundred images. "After that, my hobby kind of took off. It cleared my head."

There are pictures of students making embarrassing faces, friends huddled close together, and high school sweethearts holding hands. He sees Chantay mugging for the camera, Holly J posing with Fiona and dragging a reluctant Sav into the frame. There's Ms. Oh primly reapplying her lipstick and Mr. Simpson openly yawning. He sees an image of Harold giving a geeky thumbs up, and one of Pam blowing a kiss to her daughter. And there are at least a dozen pictures of Riley—pictures of him grinning goofily or looking bored in a chair. One with him next to Coach Armstrong. One of him standing with his parents, who look…irritable. Tense.

There are pictures of Zane as well, and though it's been a while, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except…

(Except for all of the pictures that show him staring over at an oblivious Riley. And vice versa.)

"I guess we _were_ slightly obvious," Zane murmurs, mostly to himself. Chantay had been right; they'd had moodiness in spades. The pictures made it clear.

"Well, you both sort of went on a nosedive, emotionally speaking," Anya remembers with a hollow laugh, turning to look at him. "But I'm glad you got to end on a good note, at least."

"Riley told you?"

"About the parking lot thing? Yeah."

"So…you still keep in touch with him?"

"You could say that," she answers, somewhat cryptically, as she turns her attention back to the computer and brings up a different file.

Zane rests a hand on her chair. "Anya…"

"Take a look at these," she says briskly, ignoring his imploring tone. "Now, I expect an honest opinion from you…don't hold back…"

Reluctantly, Zane lets the subject drop and eyes the screen. "These were taken at TU?"

"Yep," Anya says proudly, displaying a slideshow of pictures of campus architecture, student life, and the surrounding aspects of nature. "I transferred there after a year of college, and I'm majoring in psychology now. I love it so much, I really do, and someday I want to help with _everyone_ _else's_ drama."

"You found your path," Zane says, rubbing her shoulder. "Anya, these are incredible. The detail, the framing…just gorgeous…"

"You really mean that?"

He kisses her temple. Grins. "Sure do."

The slideshow continues, and he sees the passage of time—a pair of lovers sitting on a bench in winter's twilight, a beady-eyed professor chewing an apple in spring. A yellow butterfly flapping through the air at daybreak. The people are mostly unfamiliar to him, except for the occasional picture of Peter or Holly J or Fiona at what looks to be a party, until an image of Riley pops up on the screen.

"Pause it," he requests.

Anya stills the screen, and Zane can get a better look. He sighs. "You took that picture last year, didn't you?"

"How did you know that?" Anya asks, the shock evident in her voice.

"Riley's hair…he had it that short during the fall season, sophomore year," he says simply, looking away. On the walls, he can see more photographs, framed ones, and he pushes off the stool. Walking over to the light switch, he turns it on.

As the little room illuminates, he's surrounded by family photos; pictures of Anya with her parents, grandparents, her Great Aunt Tilly that he met at graduation. Pictures of her friends, new and old. And pictures of Riley—recent pictures that Zane is almost embarrassed to realize he can identify by season.

Anya stands up as well, folds her hands behind her back. Looks to the ground, and then slowly back up at him.

"I guess you dokeep in pretty good contact with him, huh?" he says quietly, voice wavering slightly as he gestures around the room.

"Zane, I—"

"So how is he?" he says, hands fidgeting by his sides.

Her face softens. "You still care…"

"I…I'm _curious_," he tries to clarify, even as he knows that Anya's not quite buying it.

"No. First, tell me—how are _you_ doing? What Thomas said…"

"Thomas is a drama queen," he mutters, wedging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm fine. More than fine. I've got lots of friends and—"

"A boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment…"

"Are you…looking…for a boyfriend?"

Zane gives her an odd look, opens his mouth to answer her, but then he hears the front door open and slam shut from downstairs and voices calling out—Pam and Harold greeting whoever walked in.

"You were expecting company?" he asks tensely.

Anya scratches at her hair, swearing under her breath as she takes his hand and shuts off the light. She pulls him out of the room and down the stairs, and Zane is mostly compliant until they're standing at the edge of the living room, and he sees Pam and Harold chatting with a young woman he instantly remembers being named Athena.

Athena Andropolous.

Behind her, someone is untying their shoes, and as the young man stands and shrugs out of his coat, Zane loses his breath for just a second.

Riley is different. Riley is the same. Riley's hair is just starting to curl again, and his muscles shift easily under the thin fabric of his shirt, he is _so close_, and he—

"Please," Anya begs, voice barely above a whisper as Riley hasn't seen them yet, "please don't leave."

"You really think I'd be that rude?" Zane questions through his teeth, not taking his eyes off of the scene unfolding before him. Riley ambles over to talk with Harold, and Athena is laughing at something Pam says. It's all very cozy. Familiar.

"No, not rude," Anya assures, "but I thought you'd be angry because I sort of…I may have…"

"Planned this?"

"Yeah," she admits. "Though I didn't think they'd get back so soon, because I wanted to—"

"Anya?" Riley calls, looking around the room before finally zeroing in on them. Zane feels a deep shudder run through him, feels his face burn red hot as Riley gazes directly at him, mouth slightly open and blue eyes softening by the second. Zane takes in a gulping breath, presses his lips together, and it's like everything shuts down around him—he barely registers Anya touching his elbow before backing away, or Athena bringing a hand up to her mouth, or Pam and Harold standing together, completely unsure of how to proceed.

Riley stays rooted to the spot. "Zane," he says, the word croaking out of his throat, "how did you…"

Zane tears his eyes away from him, looks to Anya instead. "You wanna explain this one?"

Anya puts on a defensive look as she snatches up her purse from the coffee table. "Athena, you and Riley bought the rest of the food?" she asks the other girl, who nods.

"Good," Anya says, rummaging through her purse until she pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen, and quickly scribbles something on it. "This is a list of the things we still need to cook for tonight," she says, handing the list to Zane, who takes it in confusion. "We're having a little celebration dinner, since Riley will have to fly out to Orlando on Christmas to get ready for his bowl game. You might have heard about it…the Capital One Bowl?"

"Yeah," Zane says quietly, slightly crumbling the paper between his fingers. "I'd heard."

"Anya," Riley cuts in, "what are you—"

"So Athena and I are leaving to do some last-minute shopping," Anya continues loudly, giving Riley a stubborn look, while Athena cocks her head, "and I'd like you boys to finish the cooking for us by the time we get back."

Zane raises an eyebrow at her.

Riley makes a face, while Harold walks over and puts a hand on Anya's shoulder. "Bumblebee, your mother and I are here too, you know, and I'm sure these guys have better things to do than toll away in the kitchen…"

Anya folds her arms carefully. "But weren't you taking Mom to that _play_ this afternoon? You know the one. You wouldn't want to _miss it_. It's…it's very important that you go."

Pam rolls her eyes and looks at her daughter in amused disbelief.

Harold blinks, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "It seems…I'd forgotten about that. Yes. Silly me. I suppose your mother and I will have to be heading off, then."

"Yes, we wouldn't want to be _late_, dear," Pam agrees, taking her husband's arm with a chuckle. "The boys will just have to manage on their own, I think. Riley, I can leave you and Zane to it? We can count on you?"

Riley gives them all a maddened look like he knows he's being set up, and is very much _not amused_. "Well, I mean…if Zane doesn't mind, then I guess…"

Their eyes meet again, and Zane feels his stomach doing cartwheels. "No, I…I don't mind."

"Wonderful," Anya says mirthfully, slinging an arm around Athena and whispering something in her ear. "I'm sure you two will have _lots_ to talk about while you cook. Since you're both _single_. As in, 100% totally-not-dating-other-people single, and all…"

(At that, Riley gives Anya his dirtiest look yet, and Zane silently marvels at Anya's ability to release choice information.)

"We'll be back in a few hours," Athena calls, as the four of them mischievously wave their goodbyes and walk out the door. "Be good, you two."

Riley sighs as the door shuts and wanders over to him. Zane can practically feel the heat radiating off Riley's body, and he becomes too warm in his own long-sleeved shirt. The scent of soap and spice returns, overwhelms him, and he needs to take a deep, quivering breath to steel himself.

"It's only a few things," Zane says, looking directly into Riley's eyes even though he'd feel more comfortable looking _anywhere else_. "But I guess we should get started."

"Yeah," Riley agrees, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and Zane follows the movement, swallows, and finally looks away, cheeks a little too rosy.

.

.


	2. The Lightning Strike

**Note:** So apparently, Shannon has been at Degrassi rehearsals, which I find…very odd. It'd be such a bummer (or a super bummer, as Anya would say) if it meant Zane left Eastern or fell out of touch with Riley, but I guess it remains to be seen. *tries not to be paranoid, because Zane coming back should be a good thing*

On a different note, thank you all so much for your lovely reviews. I'm pretty busy, so it takes me a while to write, but I appreciate your patience! Also, I know some of the endpoints for these chapters seem abrupt—but as this is basically a giant one-shot I hacked into three pieces, cliffhangers were somewhat unavoidable. Though at least you get a promise from me that I'll finish this fic. :)

* * *

><p>Riley is a terrible cook. It's a fact that Zane knows well, so he does most of the ingredient-combining himself, and lets Riley measure or fetch things instead.<p>

(It's what they used to do, after all, back when they were still together.)

They avoid talking beyond the general requests and responses needed to work in the kitchen, and it's unbearably awkward. But Zane doesn't know what to say or where to _begin_, and Riley just keeps eyeing him and looking away. Like they're both teenagers again, paired up in yoga class.

And it's not going to work.

Zane feels too coiled and cagey, and Riley is simply _too close_; their forearms keep brushing, and surely you can't keep "accidently" bumping into someone.

(Something they both become guilty of.)

"So…how are you?" Zane asks at last. Starting things off, as always.

Riley makes a tentative, puzzled sound, like he can't believe Zane is actually speaking to him. Or _attempting_ to speak to him. "I'm…good. Really…good. And, uh, how about you? How's…Capshaw?"

"In the bottom half of the football rankings," Zane says instantly, without even thinking. But Riley would _know that_, and that wasn't really what Riley was _asking_, and _he doesn't even go to Capshaw anymore_.

Stupid, stupid.

Riley gives him a slight, tinkering laugh, and something in Zane's stomach twists. "Okay," Riley says, "uh, then…how's the engineering thing going?"

Zane's body stiffens, but just barely. "I actually changed majors…"

(He won't lie about transferring to Eastern—he just won't bring it up.)

"Oh. That's…wow. I mean, it's a _good thing_; you gotta do what's best for you. So now what are you in?"

"Microbiology," Zane says, trying to sound blasé. "I'm actually looking to get into vet school."

Riley's eyes widen. "So someday it'll be _Dr. Park_, huh?"

"Hopefully," Zane muses, leaning against the kitchen counter. "It's gonna be tough, but I've grown to love the field and it's what I want, so I'm willing to work for it."

"Well, if it's even _half_ as good of a career as Anya used to always say it was..." Riley's face falls a little, and so does Zane's.

(Because they both know how much it hurt their friend to abandon her childhood dream.)

"I didn't get a chance to tell her," Zane says, biting his lip.

"She won't mind. She'll be happy for you."

Zane nearly smiles. "So…what about you? What are you aiming for?"

"Sociology," Riley says, almost bashful. "Maybe it seems like a weird choice for me, but I really like it."

"But you like football more," Zane observes.

Riley shakes his head and looks down. Smiles a little. "Speaking of which, did you…do you ever watch the games?"

Zane almost wants to laugh at the way Riley is going about this. Almost. "You mean, the ones featuring you on the field?"

Riley flushes up to his ears, but still looks down at the tile. "Well, I…yeah, I guess. It's not that _important_, like, at all. I don't…it's…I'm sure you're really _busy_, and I'm only asking because we're in the same conference and—"

"I do," Zane murmurs, waiting until Riley meets his eyes to speak again. "All of them."

Riley gives him an odd look, something pained and surprised and sweetly unguarded. "So all of Capshaw's—"

"All of _your games_," Zane corrects softly.

(And he's not even sure why he's being so _honest_, why he's admitting to it, but Riley is right in front of him, giving him sad, longing glances in Anya's kitchen, and they're all alone and his own mouth won't shut up.)

Though Riley doesn't respond, just gives him a shaky nod of acknowledgement before going to check on the chicken in the oven.

And Zane knows that Riley's hiding from him, hiding his face.

Hiding whatever expression can't be suppressed.

.

They finish with the butter tarts and casserole in silence, and it's one that follows them into washing and drying the dishes. Through the overwhelming quiet of it all, Zane feels his impatience growing at Riley's stubbornness, at his willingness to just _shut down_ whenever it's _damn convenient_ for him.

"So how have you _really_ been?" Zane asks finally, voice laced in frustration.

Riley takes a clean plate from his hand, scrubs it dry. "I already told you. I'm good."

A clipped response.

And just like that, the atmosphere of the kitchen has changed. They've been left alone to dwell in their own thoughts for too long. Everything is brittle now, on edge, and—

"I don't think you're being honest with me," Zane challenges.

(Because even as well as Riley's done—athletically and in the eye of the media—no one in that position can be _good_ with everything. It's not possible.)

Riley takes another plate from him and glowers. "So I'm a liar now?"

"Well it wouldn't be the first time," Zane mutters, before he can stop himself.

Riley gives him an incredulous look and yanks a bowl from him. "What are you…is this about the _Athena thing_? It's been over two years and you can't—"

"Not just _that_," Zane says, his anger flaring. "Did you forget about how you used to just call me a classmate? How you would make homophobic cracks in the locker room while you were still trying to _patch things up with me_? How you kept trying to go back in the closet at every turn, pretending to be some—"

"_Don't_," Riley hisses, voice low. "I know, okay? I messed up, over and over, and I regret it, all of it. But I got out of all of that, even if it took forever—and for someone who apparently _watches all of my games_, you should know that. I'm not hiding. Or _lying_. Not anymore. So spare me the lecture for once."

Zane stares at him heatedly before picking up a dirty pan. He presses the spray nozzle over the back of it without thinking about the angle, and the water shoots out over Riley's shirt and face, soaking him. Riley blinks rapidly in response, little beads of water clinging to his hair and running down his neck. He takes a deep breath. Exhales.

(And it's like letting the air out of a balloon.)

"I should change," Riley says inaudibly, backing out of the kitchen.

Still angry, Zane shuts off the water and drops the pan in the sink. And after a few seconds of stewing deliberation, he follows Riley—across the living room, up the stairs, down the hall—until they're both standing in a room that's a little too distinctly decorated not to be…

_But that would mean…_

Zane sees the bookshelf filled with sports anthologies and novels that he'd once given Riley, back when they were still dating. The framed photographs lined along the shelves are all familiar—pictures of him, Riley, Anya, Peter—except for a few faces he doesn't recognize right away. Looking closer, he sees most of the Eastern football team represented, along with Coach Gamby and Matt Barnes, the man who scouted Riley. There are trinkets and childhood treasures, the photo booth strip of _them_ tucked halfway into a government textbook, and this—this is clearly _Riley's_ room. In Anya's house.

"So I think…this is the part where we need to talk," Zane says, watching as Riley searches through his drawers for a clean shirt.

"Okay," Riley says, keeping his back to him.

Zane sighs, and rubs at his neck. "How often do you stay here?"

"Just for the holidays. And any of the longer breaks I get from the team."

"Since when?"

Riley picks out a maroon shirt and sets it on the bed. "Freshman year. Anya didn't want me to be alone. And Harold and Pam, they treat me like family. It's…I'm beyond grateful."

"So what about _your_ parents?"

"We're not exactly on the best of terms right now." Riley pulls the wet shirt over his head, using it to dab at his face before flinging it into the closet hamper. And watching him, Zane can't help but blush. It hasn't been _that_ long, but Riley is so physically _different_. Just solid, compacted muscle everywhere, skin slightly tanned, slightly bruised. The quintessential athlete's body. And he can't tear his eyes away.

Thankfully, Riley is quick to change into the clean shirt.

(It's far less distracting.)

"Yeah, I kind of gathered that," Zane continues, trying to focus again, "but how—"

"I came out to them on Graduation Day, alright? Before the ceremony, mostly because I couldn't stand everything being so fake anymore. I wanted them to be proud of me for _me_. The real me. And I had to keep repeating that I was gay over and over for it to sink in, but when it did, they both just…lost it. Ma cried—and of course, it wasn't _news_ to her—but she kept saying how it was only _temporary_ and that it was all your fault; that you made me…dirty. Dad nearly socked me, and then he asked me _why I would want to be this way_. Maybe I should've waited. I don't know. I was just so _tired_. Ma stopped talking to me again, and Dad…he said that football would straighten me out. Make me better. And that's why they were so eager to get me home and packing…they thought that going to Eastern would _fix things_.

"So I left pretty quickly. They were distant and angry, and it was so miserable in the house. They didn't even see me off—just told me to 'be a good son'. My Aunt Margo and Uncle Paul went with me instead. And they've uh, helped me a little with outside expenses, but they don't, like, advertise it to my parents. It's less messy that way. And really, I love my aunt and uncle; they're _beyond_ understanding and accepting, but…"

"They're not your parents," Zane says gently, toeing the carpet. "So when was the last time you saw them?"

Riley shrugs dismissively like it doesn't bother him, even though it clearly does. "Winter break in my freshman year. I thought giving them a few months to process stuff would help, but they just…refused to get it. Ma was still icy, and Dad told me to come back around when I had a _girlfriend_. And…Uncle Paul says they lie about me around other people sometimes, and to the rest of my family. They say I'm not really _gay_ but just 'doing it for the media attention'. And I don't…since it bothers them so much, I try to avoid bringing them up in interviews. It's one less thing to deal with.

"So yeah, home's not too good right now. But I have my aunt and uncle, my teammates, Peter, Athena, Anya and her parents…and it's more than enough."

Zane looks at him regretfully. "I wish you would've let me help you, back then. To come out to your parents together."

Riley glares at him. "So they would've shut me out sooner? Are you nuts?"

"Look, it's awful the way things turned out with your family. I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine. But it's just hard for me to…" He shakes his head, runs a hand hotly through his hair. Looks away. It's best not to go _there_. Not now, at least.

But Riley eyes him. "What?"

He shrugs bitterly. "It's selfish, okay?"

"I'd rather you say it."

Zane folds his arms. "Fine," he says steadily, making sure to look Riley directly in the eye, to articulate every word, "I wasn't enough for you to fight for. Okay? _Happy_?"

Riley looks at him like he's grown a third eye. "That wasn't why I—"

"_No_. It was. I wasn't important enough to you. And do you know how _shitty_ that made me feel? To know that you'd rather _leave me_ instead of facing them? That you'd rather hide yourself, and after how far you'd come…"

"They _hate_…they would've hated me, kicked me out. Or sent me away somewhere. Is that what you wanted?"

"I would've let you stay with me. You know how highly my parents thought of you…you were practically family…"

"I didn't want to ruin things with _my_ parents," Riley says warily, leaning against the wall. "Your parents never shunned you, or made you feel like dirt. They _always_ accepted you, right from the start. They didn't have…issues. And with Ma and Pa, I didn't want to _lose them_. I wasn't ready to face the idea of losing them. I just wanted them to talk to me and acknowledge me, _love me_—"

"I loved you," he nearly shouts, hands falling to his sides and fists clenching. He feels his eyes start to water, feels the astringent sting, and _he won't cry, he won't_. "I loved you so much Riley, you drove me crazy half the time, but I would've done anything for you."

"Except give me time," Riley snaps, frantically waving a hand. "We only had _months_ until graduation. You knew I was going to tell them when I left for Eastern. But you couldn't wait. You kept pushing. Nothing was good enough. I came out to the school, to my mom, but you didn't…one day you were fine with her coming to terms with it on her own, and the next you wanted her to deal with it straight up."

"There was a big difference between letting your mom work through the truth and letting your mom think you were dating girls again."

"She wasn't speaking to me, remember? Pretending to have a girlfriend—"

"—was a _regression_—"

"—was one of the stupider things I've done. I hurt you, I know. I just figured it would let me keep my parents happy and still be with you. I honestly thought it would solve things for the rest of the semester. It was never going to be long-term, but…it was unfair. I didn't think it through."

"Hiding doesn't work forever, Riley. And you were doing the same thing with your dad, and if you would've only confronted—"

"And there you go again. Being pushy. You wanted me to force them to face it, but I wasn't ready. And it wasn't your _decision_ to make. Don't you get that?"

A silence settles in the room.

Zane nods minutely. Unclenches his fists. He knows the _truest_ answer, the honest reality. He's had so much time to think about it, after all. But it's still difficult to force the words out of his mouth. "That…was wrong of me. I overstepped. And I thought I was helping you, but…it wasn't my call, you're right." He sighs. "But Riley, tell me: what good is a family that doesn't love you for _you_? Were you…were you really happy like that?"

"I wanted to keep my family together, at least until I went away," Riley says, pushing off the wall and walking towards him. "And you deserved to be with someone who could give you everything I couldn't. Someone confident and open and—"

"I wanted you."

Their feet are nearly touching now, snug against the carpet.

Riley shuts his eyes. "I know. I knew you would've kept trying to make things work. You would've tried to put up with me, no matter what. But I wanted you to be able to move on, find someone who'd…suit you better. That's why I never contacted you after we graduated, even after I'd come out to my parents. Like I said, I wanted you to be _happy_."

Zane takes a shaky breath, feels a familiar weight settling back in his chest like an old friend. "We were at different points. We should've…it wasn't…and later…"

He can't even verbalize the thoughts swimming around in his head, but Riley seems to understand.

"Yeah. _Yeah_. I just…all I wanted, more than _anything_, was for Ma and Pa to see how amazing…how much you meant to me."

The corner of Zane's mouth tugs up, just barely. "Meant to you? As in, past-tense?"

"You…I will never stop loving you," Riley mumbles, the words jumbled together. "Back then, I wanted it both ways; I wanted you and my family, and now," he gives an empty laugh, "I don't have either."

Seconds pass. The room turns hot and jagged.

(And once upon a time, they were two carefree boys, too jaunty and self-centered, full of a love that was strong but not strong _enough_, a bond that frayed with frustration and hurt and the fear of the unknown. But that was once upon a time, and now as young men, things have shifted around them, things have changed, things are different-but-not-really, because one feeling in particular has never left. One feeling will never leave, _not ever_, and that's just the way it is. So help them both.)

Zane tilts his head, showing Riley everything and nothing all at once. "Are you sure about that?"

There is no teasing or animosity to it. Just a quiet look and a simple question.

Riley blinks, lips slightly parted, and his bewildered-yet-shyly-hopeful expression is one of the many things that Zane has missed so dearly.

"You…what are you saying?"

Zane takes his hands and slowly drags them up Riley's chest, trying not to get too distracted by how much more solid and defined everything feels. He loops his arms behind Riley's neck, sees the deep flush that spreads over him. Their noses bump.

"You still have me," Zane murmurs. "You do. Because you want me to be _happy_, after all."

_And you make me happy. _

Riley gives the barest hint of a smile before kissing him hard, and that's nothing new, but then Riley's sighing into his mouth, fingers trembling around his waist, and Zane finds it hard to remember it ever being like _this_. Hands fly, tongues slide, and Riley lifts him up in his arms, pulling him close and depositing them both onto the unmade bed. It's almost the exact position they were once in, rolling around in the grass at 17—as the summer was fading and football season was about to tear into everything. But this time, Zane is the one with his knees framed around Riley's hips, holding Riley's wrists to the twisted sheets.

"I've…really missed you," Riley says huskily, looking up at him with a wide smile.

Zane hums in agreement, kissing down his jaw, his neck. Over the place where he'd kissed last, on a dim night at the Dot when Riley had asked him to _take a seat_, he bites down, sucking the skin red and raw. Riley bucks up against him, muttering something that is probably a muddle of Greek and English, and it takes all of Zane's strength to keep him _still_. Pulling his teeth away finally, he brushes his thumb over the newly-damaged skin in silent satisfaction.

"I think I might always hate this spot on you," Zane says. "Considering its bad memories and all."

"The unknowing goodbye kiss," Riley says in listless recognition, laughing lightly. "I could definitely live with you punishing me."

"You better," Zane warns blithely, straightening up to rest against Riley's bent knees. He smirks thoughtfully. "So…where to begin…"

(It has been such a very long time. He wants to do everything and anything all at once.)

He pulls up Riley's shirt, rubs his palm against warm, bare skin, soft despite constant conditioning. And he knows he's staring, because Riley takes his wandering hand and settles it flat over his exposed stomach, and asks if he _hates this spot too_, eyes bright.

Zane just leers at him. "Shut up."

Slowly, he leans back down to kiss him, little affectionate nips that turn into quick kisses followed by deep kisses that are too wet, sloppy almost—and it doesn't matter because this is _Riley_ under him, squirming impatiently and forever flustered. He works the button of Riley's jeans, tugs them down halfway so he can skim his fingertips over the taut skin just under the elastic of his boxers, chuckling as Riley's voice catches in his throat.

Languidly, he presses his lips to Riley's ear. "So if at any point, you want me to stop—"

"Don't even start with that," Riley growls, yanking their hips together with a practiced finesse Zane had forgotten about. "You're always such a _damn tease_."

"Only with you," he grins, mirroring Riley's movements. As they continue to grind together, he's still fully clothed and he _doesn't care_, balancing his weight on one hand and worming his other between their bodies. He kisses Riley's temple, a quick, wet smear of adoration before pulling his boxers down and trailing his fingers along Riley's cock, sluggish and without real purpose. Still teasing, just because he can, until Riley turns his face with a calloused hand and gives him _that _look, manages a strangled _please, I need you_ and envelops him completely.

Kissing his cheek, almost as an act of contrition, Zane starts to stroke him in earnest. He shivers at the warm puffs of air that fall just under his right ear, where Riley has buried his nose, smirks at the feeble whine Riley makes as he thrusts up into his hand.

"I love you so much," Zane whispers, the words floating crisp and free as anything. And it's only a few seconds more before Riley gasps brokenly, surprised as he comes too soon, hot and sticky over Zane's hand and their clothes and the sheets and it's—

"Oh," Zane says, blinking rapidly. "That's…"

_Did he really just…_

Riley gives a disbelieving half-laugh, a sweet, sleepy sigh that shakes through them both. "Shit. Sorry, it's been a while since I was uh…last with someone."

Zane sits up, watching as Riley moves to button his jeans. Dryly, he raises an eyebrow at him. "Right. Or, I could just be that good."

Riley chews his bottom lip. Traces his fingers shakily over Zane's jawline. "Well, you _are_, but I shouldn't flatter you so much."

"You know I don't mind it," Zane mutters lightly, moving to clean them up as best as he can with the bed sheet.

Riley kisses him again, and after a moment, he scoots back until his head is propped up against the pillows. His hair is sticking to his forehead, cheeks the slightest shade of pink, mouth red and swollen and this is _real_ again, and—

"Well?" Riley says, beckoning him over.

Zane gives him a dazed look. "What?"

"Are you gonna take care of that by yourself?" Riley asks jokingly, pointing to the straining bulge in his jeans. "You'd sort of hurt my feelings."

Zane grins toothily and crawls over, his smile faltering as Riley has him kneel around his shoulders, undoing his jeans and pulling them down with his boxers just enough to free his cock. Blue eyes determined, Riley's fingers curl around his hipbones, tugging his pelvis forward towards his face, towards his mouth.

"You…oh. _Oh_," Zane says dumbly, grabbing the headboard instinctively and heart already hammering against his chest. "Are you sure that you want to…"

Riley leans forward to kiss the tip of his cock, blunt nails digging a little into his hips as he does. "Just let me, okay? I want to make it good for you."

Zane nearly rolls his eyes, wondering how Riley can be so cheesy and yet entirely genuine in everything he says, but then Riley takes him deep into his mouth without warning, and his mind readily checks out and flies away.

At first, all he can do is rest his forehead against the bedroom wall, and it's a good thing it's some sort of squashy, padded design and not hard plaster, because he thumps his head at least _twice_, letting himself be blindly taken in by slick, continuous heat.

Gripping the headboard tighter to balance himself, he pulls back a little, looks down—and sees that Riley's been examining him the whole time, eyes both knowing and somewhat mocking. Urging him. So experimentally, he rocks his hips forward, just barely, and Riley just takes him in further, mouth stretching and cheeks hollowed. It's not the best angle, and Zane knows that Riley is really having to work to hold him in, to not slip up and use his teeth, but it's the clear, unapologetic challenge in Riley's eyes that makes him continue to slowly thrust into his mouth.

He can barely form syllables, so he sticks to shuddering like some dazed, winged thing, hands moving to cup the sides of Riley's face, thumbs brushing over wet lashes. He feels as Riley starts to rub circles over his hypersensitive skin, feels him hum around him and it's just too much. He shuts his eyes, hands seeking out the headboard again and lips quivering. A low groan escapes him, and he stutters forward once, twice before tumbling over the edge, knuckles white against the polished wood as Riley swallows.

The room falls silent, save for the ceiling fan that whirls lazily above them. Moments later, he remembers to _breathe_, feeling the air bristle over his skin in scattered patches. And bit by bit, he pulls away, refusing to look at Riley's _smug_ _mouth_ as he inches back down.

(He settles on top of Riley without worry, because he knows that he can take it.)

Lying together, they're too warm and too slippery in their clothes, as rumpled and dirty as they are. They'll have to shower, and do the wash right away, because this is _Anya's house_, a room in Anya's house, a _bed_ in Anya's house, and hopefully Riley has something for him to wear, something close to his size, and yet…it can wait. Zane's in no hurry. Feeling the body beneath him rise and fall is enough.

"So…I don't think you lasted much longer," Riley says after a long moment, voice raucous and too thin.

Zane pants, shifting his head under Riley's chin. "Yeah right. I totally did. By a lot."

"We're being very mature," Riley laughs, easy and familiar. And Zane has missed that sound, missed all of it.

Missed _him_.

And…

_And_…

"I transferred to Eastern," Zane blurts out, instantly feeling ten times heavier on top of Riley.

"You…_what_?"

Zane sighs guiltily. Swallows. He's never been one to hide away from the truth, and even as they're crumpled together and he can feel every place where skin meets skin, he's not going to start. "I'm…not at Capshaw anymore. I transferred to Eastern because I changed disciplines. I wanted to take advantage of its pre-vet classes, and with pharmacy being my backup if I didn't get into vet school right away, it made sense. To switch."

Riley drags a clammy hand up his back, touches the base of his neck—silently requesting him to turn his head. But Zane's not quite ready for that yet.

(He's waiting for Riley's reaction.)

"How long have you been there?" Riley asks, a little strained.

"This past fall semester was my first."

Minutes pass, led by the slight rocking of the ceiling fan and their own uneven breathing. Eventually, he feels Riley's hand sweeping through his hair, combing through the sweaty tangles, while the other grips over his shoulder blade, crushing them further together, so their heartbeats rattle like lightning between them.

"How did you do?" Riley finally questions, his voice free of anything unpleasant. "For the semester?"

"I…became good friends with quite a few people, aced my classes. Did some work at a ranch and an animal shelter. Kept…busy."

Riley brushes his fingertips behind Zane's ear, making him shiver. "So you didn't move three states over to be with me. Good to know," Riley says lightheartedly.

"To be honest, you were just a bonus. Every home game, I got to see your face blown up on the stadium's jumbotron," he replies, matching Riley's joking tone. He shifts his head, and feels another wave of honesty surge through him. He figures he has nothing to lose by it. "Well…maybe you were a tiny part of my motivation for going. I did have other options, other acceptances. You might've tipped the scales _a little_. I…missed seeing you," he admits.

"But not enough to come find me…"

"Well, neither did you."

"I already told you, I thought you'd be _happier_ if—"

"Look, I didn't know what to expect," Zane relents, letting out a deep breath. "Or whether you'd even want me around. Because you've done so well. All the trash people were saying, especially at the beginning before you could really show them…it just blows my mind. I was…I'm just so completely _impressed_—"

"Because I'm a quarterback who wins games?" Riley assumes, like he's heard it all before. "I _have_ to win, I have to get everything right, because any little screw-up or stupid blunder and the hate starts back up. And you'd think it'd be the same kind of crap any other player would get for sucking, but it's not. It's _always_ different for me. I just wanna play, but the things people ask in interviews sometimes, the stuff they publish, it's…I'm not _allowed_ to be like everyone else," he finishes quietly. "But you're proud of me for that?"

Zane shakes his head against Riley's chest. Reaches up to run a hand through his hair. "I'm _proud_ because you've done it on your own. Without me. And that's…the way you've navigated through everything…it's inspiring. _You_ inspire me," he says, rushing through the last bit because even though he means it, saying that he _looks up to Riley_ is such a change of pace from everything their relationship used to be.

"Zane…I don't…"

Riley lets out a hazy breath, and Zane can tell that Riley is struggling to wrap his head around such an admission. Struggling to put words back into his mouth.

"I was always trying to channel you, whenever things got really bad. That Zen thing you do so well. I _still_ try to channel you," is what Riley finally settles on.

"So we're each other's inspirations," Zane offers lightly, nipping a spot on Riley's collarbone and realizing they're both blushing like crazy, too overwhelmed by compliments. Too unused to hearing them from each other. "Then you're not terribly upset, all things considered?"

"Well, are you planning on _staying_ at Eastern?"

He smiles easily against Riley's skin. "Yes, for the foreseeable future I—"

Riley makes a content, giddy sort of noise before hugging him tightly and flipping them around, so he's on his back against the mattress and Riley can hover over him, look him in the eye.

"See, I could _try_ to be angry," Riley says with a grin, "I mean, you didn't even bother to say _hello_. But we both kinda screwed up. And I don't want to think about all the time we've spent apart—and whether that could've been shortened or not. Right now, what matters to me is that I'm doing what I love at Eastern, that I won't be able to thank Anya _enough_ for dragging you over here, and that I have you with me again. You being at the same school as me just takes the long-distance thing out of the equation. So that's like, a win-win situation all around."

Zane matches Riley's grin with one of his own, feels his heart flutter stupidly in his chest. Brings Riley's face down to kiss him, to lick into his mouth and bite at his bottom lip and draw out little happy sighs from him that are quickly becoming his new favorite thing.

"So I think," Zane decides breathlessly, brushing his foot against Riley's calf, "that you might be stuck with me. For quite some time. Ages, even. If that appeals to you…"

Riley kisses the corner of his mouth. Nods briskly. "I think that sounds amazing."

.

"So there was Brian and Andy and who else?"

"That's it," Zane assures, switching the loads in the wash. "What about you?"

Riley looks away, plucking lint from the dryer screen. He seems almost meek standing in his socks in Anya's basement, sporting a clean pair of jeans and a Silver Dan's T-shirt. "I…I didn't really…"

"Wait," Zane says, gaping at him a little, "you didn't date _anyone_?"

Riley looks down. "Is that a crime, or something?"

"I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I just assumed…you're such a big deal on campus, and—"

"Did you ever hear a story about my love life?"

Zane thinks for a moment. "Not really."

"So if I'd had one…"

"…everyone would've found out sooner or later," Zane finishes with a slight frown. "So much for privacy."

Riley shrugs. "I sure do miss it. I'd come to Eastern knowing that I'd have to earn people's respect, just like everyone else. That I'd have to work harder than ever before to do well. But everything was overwhelming at first. So when we started winning games and _kept_ winning games, I could relax a little. But I didn't want to mess that up for anything. So the idea of dating was just…not good at all."

Zane smiles slightly. "And if _I'd_ been with you at Eastern right from the start?"

"And we'd gotten back together?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then I would've been lucky to call you my boyfriend. And anyone who had a problem with it could fuck off."

Zane takes Riley's hand in his own, rubbing circles into the inside of his wrist. "It sure would've been something."

"Hey," Riley says, "it still _can_ be something. When we go back to school in the spring…I mean, if you don't mind the possibility of your face being circulated around Facerange or worse, then…"

"Yeah," Zane says. He sighs gently—reminds himself that the past is the past. Riley's here with him now. That's what counts. "So you never saw anyone, period?"

"I didn't _date_. I just, kind of…"

"Hooked up with someone?" Zane supplies carefully.

"Just one guy, and it wasn't some sleazy thing. I knew him. And…I'm pretty sure I told you about him at some point."

Zane makes a face. "Please don't tell me it was Nathan…"

Riley laughs. "What was so bad about him? He was totally decent; if anything I was the one who—"

"Riley, he was borderline stalking you in the woods and went down on you next to a tree. That's creepy."

"So anyone who gives me a blowjob in the woods is a weirdo? Cause I remember that one time during Spring Break when we were running together, and you decided to _stop_, and then you went and pulled me next to that bush and—"

"Okay," Zane yields, cheeks flushed. "But it wasn't Nathan, right?"

Riley scrunches up his face. "You remember Sam?"

"Oh no. Sam Taylor?" Zane says, unable to stop the fit of disbelieving laughter that rocks through him. "No way! The lifeguard instructor? What was that, your third crush? Who you went and _punched_? How did that even happen? _What_ happened?"

"It was a one-time…a two-time thing, alright? Last winter break, I was…we were at the same party, and we ended up talking—like, _really_ talking—and then we left to have coffee, and—"

"Was it any good?"

Riley blinks. "The coffee?"

Zane glares at him. "No…_after_ the coffee."

"Right. That. Uh…yeah. It was…" Riley blushes somewhat, looks up at the ceiling. Makes a whirling motion with his free hand, trying to settle on the right words. "Different, I guess."

(It's the _way_ Riley says it that makes Zane's expression sour.)

"Wow," Zane remarks, "_different_, huh? And here I was gonna say that Brian and Andy couldn't hold a candle to you…"

Riley squeezes his hand. "Did I _say_ Sam was in the same league as you? Cause he wasn't, at all—you're too…everything. I was just…I wanted to see what would change, being with someone else. Like that. I was lonely, and Sam was so understanding. He…got it. And afterwards, when I told him that I still missed you—"

"Riley, you don't _say that_ to someone right after sleeping with them..."

"But it was the truth," Riley protests, "and Sam…he said he figured I was still hung up on you. That he could kinda tell when we were…you know. Said to either give it more time or go do something about 'my pining heart'."

Zane chews the inside of his cheek. Lets out a long sigh. "Well, since we're being totally frank and sort of terrible, I did think about you sometimes. At Capshaw. When I really shouldn't have."

Riley's eyes widen a little. "Like, when you were with your boyfriends?"

"Maybe," Zane says indistinctly. "I mean, in certain _intimate_ situations I might've imagined—"

"Zane! That's so bad," Riley says, grinning and tugging them together against the gurgling washer. "So I'm that unforgettable, huh?"

"You're a complete handful," Zane corrects. "And you're _mine_."

.

They're sitting on the couch watching Nicolas Cage make a fool of himself in _The Wicker Man _when Anya returns home with Athena, the contents of their shopping bags overflowing in their hands. He and Riley stand up to help, but Anya quickly drops her bags by the door and marches over in quick strides. Pulls Riley aside.

"Well?" she asks.

Riley's mouth twitches. "Well _what_?"

"Don't play dumb with me," she warns. "We always talked about if this day ever came. And…oh. You both changed clothes," she observes with a crooked smile.

"We made a mess in the kitchen…"

"_Right_. And Zane's in one of your old practice shirts because—"

"He had nothing else to wear."

Zane awkwardly goes to help Athena with her things, and notices the girl's slight blush as she mumbles her thanks. "What's this all about?" he whispers curiously.

Athena blushes further and shakes her head, points to Anya, who now has a hand on either side of Riley's face, looking fiercely into his eyes. It almost passes for a staring contest, the seconds ticking by, until finally, Anya blinks and notices the love bite on Riley's neck…and lets out a girly squeal so high-pitched that Zane nearly winces.

"Oh. My. God," Anya says, voice filled with buoyant laughter as she kisses Riley's cheek and hugs him. "I can't _believe_ that you two already…you guys are such _guys_. Damn. What did I tell you Athena…I am officially the best re-matchmaker in the world!"

"Anya," Riley says uselessly, "I didn't even say anything…"

"Oh come on, I know you too well," she insists, tugging at his shirt and a smirk playing at her lips. "And if you didn't have the most _obvious_ I-just-totally-got-laid face, then maybe…but hey," she says, switching gears and looking around, "where did you two actually—"

"O-kay," Zane quickly interrupts, motioning Riley over to help him with the rest of the bags.

Yet Anya flaps a hand in his direction and marches over to him, wraps her arms around his neck. "Oh, don't worry. I'm too happy to mind. Just as long as _you guys_ are happy…"

"Definitely," Zane answers, smiling and brushing a lock of blond hair out of her eyes. "I guess…we both owe you one?"

Anya winks. "Seriously, where would either of you be without me? But tell you what. Just name your first adopted baby girl after me and we'll be—"

"ANYA," Riley bemoans, a hand at his forehead. "We've only been back together for _six hours_. Take it easy."

"It's never too early to start planning these things," Athena teases, walking over. "I expect to get an invite to the wedding someday, you know."

The girls giggle together as the four of them carry the bags into the living room, sitting down at the center coffee table to wrap up the various presents.

(And Zane is actually surprised that there _are_ presents to wrap up, that Anya really did go shopping as she said she would. Because Harold and Pam _certainly_ didn't go to see a play...)

Talk is comfortable as they get caught up. As Riley had predicted, Anya takes the news that Zane's studying to be a vet well—and has another mini freak-out when she learns just _where_ Zane's studying (_"Roommates! I'm calling it now…"_). And Zane finds it enjoyable to be with familiar faces; getting back into the swing of things.

It's almost like he's never been away.

It turns out that Athena's at TU with Anya—also studying psychology—and they both tell tales of some of their wackier professors, like the one who married one of his former students, and the one who's lecturing tone sounded so much like a lullaby that it put students to sleep within five minutes. Zane mentions his roommate Daniel, a recent experience helping veterinarians at an endurance ride, and some of the perils of having a bad biochemistry TA. Riley talks about a few of the weird, superstitious practices his teammates have on game day—like his roommate Marcus needing to chew exactly seven green Tic Tacs, or linebacker Cal and his Bee Gees music—and some of the more…colorful…stories of some of the guys. So after about twenty minutes, Zane knows most of the team by name, position, and at least one interesting fact the general public isn't privy to.

"So tomorrow," Anya announces suddenly, brandishing her pair of scissors, "there's an early holiday party at—"

"—Above the Dot?" Zane assumes, taking a roll of wrapping paper with penguins on it and grinning.

Riley nudges him. "Dude, where else?"

"_So_," Anya repeats, louder this time as she raises an unamused eyebrow at him, "I assume you'll be going, Zane? This is sort of an unofficial reunion. Alumni night. Lots of old faces will be there. It's become tradition for most of us who happen to be in the area."

"_I'll_ be there," Riley says, frowning as his fingers get tangled in a long strip of tape. "As always."

Zane chuckles. "Well, then I guess I have to go. You leave in three days for your bowl game, and I'll be missing you like crazy."

Riley smiles broadly and kisses him, sending the girls into a spirited tizzy. "Jeez, you're gonna turn into such a softie…"

"Well, I couldn't _possibly_ manage to be a bigger one than you already are," Zane counters airily.

Anya raises a finger. "I totally concur."

Riley flicks a tape ball at her, and Anya just sticks out her tongue and throws it back at him.

"They can be such children sometimes," Athena whispers, rummaging through a bag for a bow. "Like brother and sister, even. Especially now, considering how things are with Riley's family. It's really brought them closer together."

"Yeah," Zane agrees, observing their interactions with a smile. How Anya chides Riley for an especially sloppily-wrapped present. How they get distracted by the TV, where Nicolas Cage is, for some reason, holding a gun to a woman on a bike.

"I know Riley was a bit unfair to you, back then," she continues, as Anya and Riley are still engrossed by what's on the screen, entranced by the horribleness, "but it's been pretty rough for him, these last few years. Gaining acceptance from the team and the fans. The whole mess with his parents. This is the most animated I think I've ever seen him. You're…good for him."

"He's good for me too," Zane says, completely truthful. He turns to look at her fully. "I'm determined to make it work this time. We both are."

Athena nods in relief, tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Good. That's what I needed to hear."

.

Pam and Harold arrive home later, and they're very much like Anya in that they expect a full relationship status update right away. Upon learning that he and Riley are back together, they both walk over and...give them enthusiastic high-fives.

(Riley seems very accustomed to this sort of thing with them.)

"It was only a matter of time," Pam says with a smile.

Harold looks over at his daughter and grins. "When our Bumblebee sets her mind to something…"

"She usually gets what she wants," Riley laughs, as Anya flips her hair back unapologetically.

Dinner starts off without a hitch. It's the six of them sitting at the dinner table, and conversation flows from university talk to Pam's health (which thankfully is still very good) to the team Riley will be playing against. Zane is pleased to see that Anya's parents are as easygoing as ever—slightly goofy but still loving and nurturing all the same. Clearly, it's been a good fit for Riley, staying with the MacPhersons in his off-time.

(All things considered.)

As dinner wraps up and Anya's parents insist on washing the dishes themselves, Zane leans over and nudges Riley's shoulder. "So have you considered where you'll be spending the night?"

Riley shakes his head in confusion. "Uh, here? Where I always do…"

"Okay," Zane says, "have you considered _changing_ your sleeping arrangements? Because I happen to have a _very_ spacious house, as you may recall."

"And a very comfortable bed," Riley adds slowly, with a wicked smirk. "Is that an offer you're making, or…"

Zane squeezes Riley's knee under the table, making him jolt. "Figure it out."

Anya laughs openly at them as Riley mutters some excuse about _not wanting to be a burden_. Athena shakes her head, giggling and grabbing her purse, and Harold and Pam give them matching, knowing smiles.

"Well Riley, you know you're always welcome here…when you _want_ to be," Pam says with a quiet wink.

He and Riley bid them all goodbye, Riley slightly red-faced as he tightens his grip on his travel bag. It's stuffed with enough essentials to last him a few days, which is as much time as he still has left in Toronto before his flight.

"In the future, I think you'll be transferring more of your stuff over to my place," Zane says smugly as they walk to his car. "Not that the MacPhersons aren't terrific or anything."

The night air is colder than usual, even for winter, and their breath puffs out in front of them, little vanishing clouds that mix under the streetlights.

Riley manages a dry laugh, and throws his bag in the backseat before leaning against the vehicle. "Look at you, sounding all confident…"

Zane leans up against him, laces their fingers together. Gives Riley the smile that's reserved _just for him_, the megawatt, totally innocent yet completely scandalous, I-know-you-so-well show of teeth that never fails to make Riley stumble a little. So it's a good thing they're against the car. "Are you gonna tell me I shouldn't be?"

Riley presses their foreheads together. "Not a chance," he swears.

.

By the time Zane drives them up to his house, it's well past midnight. He's somewhat surprised to see his parent's cars in the driveway—they're both home for once—and knows they'll be asleep, considering their long hours. So he and Riley take great care not to wake them, gingerly shutting the front door and kicking off their shoes in the entrance. They creep up the stairs in the relative darkness, as Zane can feel his way around well enough not to bother with the lights.

He leads Riley around corners and down hallways, and for his part, Riley actually remembers to avoid the lamp at the top of the stairs, and the desk that sits just inside Zane's bedroom doorway.

"You're still familiar with your way around here," Zane whispers, somewhat surprised, as Riley steps around the chest by the foot of the bed.

"Of course," Riley mumbles like it's nothing at all, peeling off his shirt and jeans, toeing off his socks, and depositing everything unceremoniously in a pile on the carpet. Standing by the window, he looks almost like a ghost in the scant traces of moonlight, sleepy and pale. "C'mere."

Riley pulls Zane over to strip him down as well, and Zane wants to protest that he's not a _child_, but he's still shivering a little from the bitter cold, and Riley's hands are so warm against his skin, easing any kind of complaint right out of him. With a somnolent yawn, Riley draws them both down onto the mattress, fits the sheets around their bodies like a snug cocoon. They've never been ones for spooning in bed, ever—Riley tosses around in his sleep too much for that sort of thing, and has the unfortunate habit of sometimes kicking—but this time, Riley curls an arm around Zane's waist and tucks their bodies together. Nuzzles the back of Zane's neck.

And sleep comes quickly for both of them.

.

To get out of bed in the morning, Zane has to twist out of Riley's ironclad grasp, elbowing him a little in the process, and Riley is still dead asleep by the end of it. Blearily, Zane checks the clock on his nightstand, and sees that it's 6:30. He stretches as he stands up, hair sticking up everywhere as he rubs at his eyes.

And by the time Zane brushes his teeth, showers, dresses, and fixes his hair, Riley is still sleeping soundly on the bed—right where Zane expects him to be. Because honestly, Riley could sleep half the day away if he wanted to, without the help of an alarm or (in the past) Zane nudging him awake.

But Zane lets him rest, since the party at Above the Dot doesn't start until late in the evening. Since Riley will be leaving for Orlando soon, and return to a grueling practice schedule in preparation for the big game. Since Zane would rather surprise him with breakfast anyways.

Yet bounding down the stairs, he's greeted by the smell of strong coffee and eggs sizzling on the pan. And sighs nervously in recognition.

(His mother is the only person who wakes up earlier than him.)

Guardedly, he wanders into the kitchen, and his mother smiles at him warmly, tells him to wash his hands before helping her with the rest of the cooking.

"We need to make quite a lot this morning," she says keenly, directing him to the still-wrapped bacon on the counter. "What with you and your father's voracious appetites, and me, and…Riley."

Zane just blinks at her and rubs the back of his neck. Doesn't verbalize the question in his head.

"His shoes were left with yours by the front door," she explains, handing him a pre-sprayed pan and a spatula, which he takes slowly. "So I went and took a peek into your room, and sure enough…"

He can certainly imagine the scene. Them coiled together, completely relaxed and breathing evenly. Riley's forehead pressed against the top of his back, an arm thrown over his hip.

"We're back together," he says, stating the obvious.

She nods. "A relatively new development, I would assume?"

He tilts his head. Chews his lip. "You could say that."

(He doesn't want to admit that it's been for less than 24 hours. But he's pretty sure his mother already has that sort of idea.)

He cuts apart the bacon and drops the strips into the pan to sizzle, spacing them out with the spatula. His mother takes a deep breath and looks over at him, the concern evident in her eyes.

"You didn't rush back into things?"

"I…we've talked. Worked things out. We're on the same page, now."

"So you went and sought him on your own?"

"Not…exactly."

"Then he found you?"

"No, we…Anya spotted me at the Dot yesterday, and I went home with her to catch up. And _he_ was there, after all this time, and it just…it just happened."

"A chance encounter. Not a _motivated_ encounter." His mother shakes her head and frowns, continuing to scramble the eggs. "And if Anya hadn't been there to help you both along? What then? I doubt Riley would be sleeping in your room at this moment…"

Zane looks away. "I think…I _know_ I would've gone after him eventually. It just would've taken longer to work up the nerve." His mother raises an eyebrow at him negatively but he presses on. "For the longest time, I wasn't sure that I could be _around_ him. Mom, I thought…I was afraid that I didn't matter, that he'd gone on with everything and I was just some distant memory. And I felt even worse for thinking like that, for not doing anything about it because I never…I'm not…"

(He is assertive. He is confident. He is _not_ supposed to be unsure. He wasn't raised that way. It's not right. It doesn't fit. It's _unacceptable_.)

His mother smiles and takes the spatula from him. Turns the bacon herself so it doesn't burn. There's almost a sliver of regret in her gaze, and Zane prefers not to dwell on the meaning behind it.

"But Riley felt the same way I did," he continues, focusing more on the crackling of the food than his mother's scrutiny. "He thought he was doing me a favor by staying away from me—he'd thought that's what I'd wanted, so all this time, we were both just…"

"Failing to communicate."

"Yeah."

Primly, his mother puts a hand to her hip. "Sweetheart, I just don't want either of you getting hurt again. That boy wore his heart on his sleeve for you, and you did _so much_ for him. But it all fell apart. Repeatedly. So you need to be sure that you're both ready to take that leap again. And I know you've been a bit sullen lately, but putting some thought into these kinds of decisions will benefit you tremendously in the long run. You can't be hasty, dear."

Zane swallows and touches her arm. "Mom…I love him and that's never faltered," he says calmly, looking at her more openly than ever before, needing her to see _just how much_ Riley means to him. "And I didn't have that with Brian or Andy, or even Thomas. It didn't compare. At all. And back when Riley was such a big part of my life…there were so many misunderstandings. We made a lot of mistakes, but now…it's like everything is _right_ again and he loves me just as much and—"

"How is Anya?"

Zane shakes his head slightly, jarred by the abrupt subject change. His train of thought scatters away from him like a spiderling. "She's uh…out of the army and going to TU. Studying psychology. Doing well."

"That seems like a good fit for her," his mother says carefully, turning off the heat to the eggs. "Sometimes, I think it takes a while for people to find their own way. Or," she adds, cupping his cheek with her free hand, "to find their way back to each other. When it really means something."

Zane laughs slightly. "So you're fine with it?"

"Wouldn't you put up a fuss if I wasn't?"

"Absolutely," he grins.

"That's my passionate boy," she says, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "You know, I've missed seeing both of your smiling faces in this house, and so has your father. And we were really starting to worry about you, Zane. So yes, I'm more than _fine_ with it," she says, eyes teasing. "Now, when am I finally going to meet Riley's parents?"

There's a soft cough behind them, and they both turn their heads towards the sound. Riley shuffles around at the kitchen's entrance, standing barefoot in his wrinkled jeans and shirt from the night before.

"You probably won't anytime soon," Riley says, almost apologetically. "They, uh…"

"They're still working on accepting him," Zane supplies, noting the trace of tangible pain on Riley's face.

"And they…have a long way to go," Riley adds slowly, like the words sit bitter on his tongue. "But can I help with anything over here, Mrs. Park? I know it's been a while…"

"It certainly has," she says, walking over to him with outstretched arms and embracing him tightly. "You've been missed dearly."

Zane and his mother finish with the rest of the food, (politely) declining Riley's offer to help cook and assigning him to set the table instead. When Zane's father later strides into the kitchen (_"Well, if it isn't the superstar! How've you been, son? Quite a name you're making for yourself over there…"_), it's another round of explanations. Riley reluctantly goes over his current living arrangements, and Zane is relieved his parents are all for letting Riley stay over for future holidays and breaks.

(Not that he ever assumed that they would turn Riley away. Because besides Thomas, Riley was the only boyfriend who'd ever been to the house, and the _only _boyfriend they didn't mind going up to his room. They trusted Riley, because Riley had worked to _earn_ that trust years ago. Sat for countless dinners and twitched under their careful examination. Charmed them with his awkward sincerity.)

They finish breakfast and Zane clears the table. Riley lingers with him, volunteering to clean the dishes. Zane's father rests a firm hand on Riley's shoulder, smiles and welcomes him back into the fold, so to speak, and Riley seems to feel the gravity of the man's rare display of physical affection. His mother kisses both of their cheeks, whispering something in Riley's ear before turning away with his father, giving them space.

"What'd she say?" Zane asks.

Riley grins at him. "Wouldn't you like to know…"

Zane huffs, smirking and raising the spray nozzle at him daringly. "Maybe you need a reminder of my water spraying skills."

"Is that so?" Riley says, laughing and raising his hands in surrender. "Well, if you're so desperate to know, she said…she said to look after you. To keep you safe."

Zane glares at him. "Oh, she did _not_."

"She did! Honest!"

Zane scratches at his chin, sighs. Searches around for his mother, who is nowhere in sight. "That's…I'm not some damsel that you have to protect."

Riley kisses him lightly, smelling like oranges and tasting like strawberry jam. "Oh, I'm well aware. But…if anyone were to lay a finger on you…"

"Like say, throw me in a dumpster?"

Riley makes a face as if Owen Milligan's visage is swimming in his vision. "That, or anything else, and I'd—"

"Report it to the proper authorities, I certainly hope…"

"…and _not_ bash their brains in," Riley finishes, with only marginal difficulty.

Zane winks at him. "Glad to see the anger management classes are still working."

"It's a bit more than that," Riley admits, and Zane knows he's referring to the kind of instruction he gets at Eastern on how to behave in front of a camera. How to carry himself amidst the media.

(He makes a mental note to ask Riley about it sometime, because he's genuinely curious.)

"But thanks for…this," Riley continues, gesturing around at the kitchen. "It's nice to have places where I can just…I mean…"

Riley's words die in his throat, like he's lodged them back down, and Zane nods with a touch of sadness. Runs a hand through Riley's hair, gently scratching at the scalp. "I know," he says, watching as Riley shuts his eyes and leans into his touch. "Whatever you need, you have it here. Always."

.

When he, Riley, and Anya slip into Above the Dot (and it is slipping in, since Peter has the place packed so tight it should be a fire hazard), they squeeze past throngs of people towards the stage, where there's a little bit of breathing room.

Gazing around amidst the glowing lights and tinsel, Zane can see Fiona clustered with Declan, Jane, and Holly J, Alli arguing with Jenna about something, Bruce chatting up Chantay, Blue getting shot down by both Katie _and_ Marisol, Dave looking slightly sloshed and staggering into Jake and Johnny, Clare talking with Adam—and they're all people he remembers easily for the most part. Nearly everyone is young enough to still care about high school ties, if only momentarily. Or more accurately, they're people who cared enough about Degrassi's dances to bother to attend an alumni event. And all of them _are_ Degrassi alums—with a few exceptions. Such as Athena helping Peter with the drinks, or Sav being handsy with a girl Zane doesn't recognize.

It's almost odd to see so many familiar faces—people in his class and those above and below him—and hear about the progress they've made in their lives. Surreal, even. Like Wesley and Connor going on about their undergraduate research, after only attending university for a semester. Or Owen walking over and giving Anya a big hug, while Riley nods at him curtly, because apparently, Owen goes to TU, and hangs out with Anya often enough that he and Riley have some sort of grudging truce going on.

(And Zane is all for second and—_looking over at Riley_—third chances, so Owen's presence doesn't bother him in the slightest. He welcomes it, actually.)

"Dude," Owen says to Riley in confusion, only stepping marginally away from Anya, "why are you _here_—shouldn't you be practicing? You have your game in—"

"Coach Gamby gave us a few days off for the holidays," Riley answers swiftly.

Owen lets out a low whistle. "Well _that's_ pretty fucking generous."

Riley smiles a little. "I know, right?"

And of course, Owen looks over at Zane, and back to Riley, and puts two and two together. He snidely asks if they're sucking face again, and Riley snaps back that they're sucking a lot more than that. The face that Owen makes in response is _priceless_, and Zane waits with bated breath for Owen's inevitably spiteful response…which never comes.

"Well, it figures," Owen mumbles, and leaves it at that.

(And all Zane can think is that Riley and Owen's rekindled, almost-barely-there-squint-and-you'll-see-it friendship is _weird_. Very weird.)

The live music for the evening is various alumni taking turns at the mic, singing holiday music and their own original music and just plain _bad_ music. At some point, Sav rounds up Peter, Jane, Danny, and Drew subbing in for Spinner to do a Stϋdz set. It's polished enough to get cheers of encouragement from Holly J (_"Go Sav!"_) and groans from Leia and Anya.

"They do this every year," Leia whines, stamping her foot. "Like I didn't hear enough of these songs when I was dating Danny."

"I'm just waiting for Sav to unveil a song for his new girlfriend," Anya says with a fond smile, shaking her head. "That girl he invited…she wasn't here last year."

"Who is she?" Riley asks, looking over at the young woman at the front of the stage, who's swaying to the music.

"Well, her name is Valentine Day…and yes, I'm being serious," Owen prefaces, counting off on his fingers. "And she goes to Smithdale, she has two cats, she's an English major, and her favorite poet is Charles Bood-air or Baudelaire or whatever—the dude who wrote about sex and corpses."

"So what, you had a nice, long conversation with her out of the blue? About her cats and freaky poetry? You _hate_ poetry." Anya says suspiciously, folding her arms.

Owen shrugs. "I thought she was single. But then Sav came over and they were all over each other. So that was a bust. Why? You jealous?"

"Not at all," Anya huffs.

(Owen almost seems disappointed.)

When the Stϋdz wrap it up, Sav singles Valentine out and announces that he'll be singing "My Valentine".

"It's a little something I wrote for my favorite girl," he says into the microphone.

Close to the stage, Alli shakes her head.

"Uh, _one_ of my favorite girls," Sav corrects, smiling sheepishly at his sister.

The song itself is trademark Sav Bhandari—equal measures of cheesy and heartfelt. At some point during the chorus, Riley goes downstairs to help Peter get some things out of his car, and everyone else shifts on their feet or stares at each other awkwardly. Valentine appears to really like it, and that seems to be what Sav was going for.

After ending the song and hopping off the stage, Sav blessedly signals Mo into DJ mode. The atmosphere automatically becomes more fluid and fun as people start to crowd together and dance. And actually, it's reminiscent of Degrassi's dances…_without_ adding guns and knives and people going into labor into the mix.

The group Zane's standing with starts to dissolve, and soon he becomes the odd one out, left alone on the outskirts. Because Owen cautiously asks Anya to dance with him, and Leia shyly goes with Blue. Chantay's paired off with Bruce, Holly J sways with Declan, Sav has his starry-eyed Valentine, Bianca is teasing Drew, Johnny mumbles something to Alli and she laughs, taking his hand—and it's couples, couples, couples. Old couples, new couples, pairs he never would've thought of, people he doesn't know, people he knows too well…

And perhaps that's not the right word to use—couples—because most of them seem to be hanging around just for the fun of it. Nothing serious, nothing lasting—just a peek back at an old part of their lives. A chance to escape.

"Tis the season for reliving high school romances," a female voice says behind him, as if reading his mind. "These people hardly see each other, but they come here once a year to get googly-eyed and wallow in the past."

Zane turns around and locks eyes with Fiona Coyne, eloquently dressed as ever.

"Sorry if I startled you," she says. "I was bored. And you look bored."

"Do I?" Zane asks blankly. He doesn't know really what to say to her. The only time they'd ever spoken is when she'd once asked to borrow a pen. It seems superficial, but all he knows about her is that she was involved in the play that Eli wrote, that she passed out during Perino's final in Grade 12, and that Riley dated her. "You don't enjoy it here?" he asks, trying for something, anything.

"I come to this annual bash because Holly J likes catching up with people, and Declan goes wherever she does. But if I'm being honest, I've never liked this place of Peter's. The food is underwhelming and the air's always stuffy. Though the conversation's fine—that is, until people start ditching you," she says, jutting her chin in Eli's direction, where he's dancing with Clare. "All these people carrying torches and flirting with abandon and looking to score. It's like taking a trip in a gauche time machine. Every year there's a bigger crowd as more people hear about it."

"And then they get paired off," Zane says with a grin.

"For a few hours. I'd find it more tolerable if my girlfriend wasn't still in New York doing a photo shoot…I _so_ hate being the third wheel."

Zane nods at her, unfazed by her words. He'd had no idea she liked girls, but…certain things Riley had once said made far more sense now.

"But you're alone too," Fiona continues, cracking a smile. "And _you're_ single. So I guess it's not so bad on my end. Though it's odd that no one's swept you away yet."

"Well," Zane says, "I'm actually—"

"Hey! Sorry I took so long. Peter's car is a _mess_." Two strong arms wrap around his waist from behind, and Riley's voice hums low in his ear. "Having fun with Fiona?"

She blinks at them. "Why am I not surprised? Googly-eyes to infinity. Though, I guess, permanent ones? Like my brother and Holly J?"

"What?" Riley laughs in confusion, letting go of him.

Zane and Fiona share a look and a smile. "It's nothing," they say in unison.

Riley shrugs a shoulder. "If you say so." He glances over at him. "I asked Mo to put on a fast song. You wouldn't get to see my bad dancing otherwise, and I just trip over my feet with these ballads."

"A nationally-ranked athlete in the U.S., and yet you still flounder around on the dance floor, huh?" Zane grins, taking Riley's hand. "I've missed it, and I can't wait to see more of it."

"You two have fun," Fiona says, folding her hands and backing away, as if to blend in with the wall. Though for someone like Fiona, that would be nearly impossible.

"Wait," Riley says to her, as the song changes to something bright and up-tempo, with Mo giving them a thumbs up from across the room. "C'mon," he grins. "Join us."

"Yeah," Zane agrees.

Fiona gives them an undecided look, like she's mulling it over in her head, but ultimately she lets Riley lead them both to where the rest of their former classmates are jumping around. True to his word, Riley is still a terrible dancer, but that doesn't stop him or anyone else from having a good time. Fiona loosens up, smiles with her brother and Holly J and Chantay and Anya, tugs at Riley's shirt and says something in his ear that makes him laugh.

(It seems as if working together on _Love Roulette_ and annual gatherings have mended things between them. No one's trying to cure their homosexuality. No one's a bitch. Maturity has settled in.)

And as the minutes pass, they're all ridiculous together, and a few people back away and give them looks like they know it. But they don't care. Because it's nice to slip back a little to a simpler time—now with clearer heads—if only for a while.

.

In two hours, he and Riley are back at his house, tangled together on his bed.

Riley's hands keep sweeping up and down his sides as they kiss, smiling and sucking and gasping into each other's mouths like it's all they've ever known. Sometimes it's so feather-light that Zane can barely feel it, and then Riley goes and slots his mouth so fervent and deep all of a sudden, and Zane has to pull away with a laugh, breathing hard like a racehorse against Riley's cheek.

Everything is so unhurried and drawn out that Zane's mind starts to wander, remembering the last time they were like this on his bed—on Riley's 18th birthday. He remembers how Riley had come over to his house after school, how Riley had been standing in front of the mirror, fumbling with the buttons on his purple dress shirt. How he'd made Zane anxious just by taking so long to get dressed—actually, by not taking long _enough_—because Zane was already struggling with the idea of being paraded around as a friend for the benefit of Riley's parents. And truthfully, Zane hadn't wanted to go at all in such a way, to be expected to smile and help keep up a fake family dynamic that would have to shatter sooner or later. It had practically unsettled his stomach. But he couldn't bring himself to say no. He loved Riley too much, and he'd wanted a way to get closer to Riley's father (who didn't know of his existence) and his mother (who had come to practically hate his existence). Being just a friend was better than nothing, he'd kept telling himself. Yet his manic tension had only worsened. So he'd let out an exasperated sigh and pulled Riley away from the mirror, set him on his bed and slid the fabric of Riley's shirt off his shoulders, dropping kisses as he went. Riley had stammered something about _not wanting to be late_, and Zane had assured him that they wouldn't be. That they just _needed this_ (he needed this), that it was Riley's _birthday_ after all.

Zane had taken him in quick, frantic strides then, bent Riley nearly double in the process, like they could just meld together, collapse into each other and not have to be anywhere else. And if he'd known that their brief coupling would be their last for years to come, Zane might've…gone about it differently. Tried to make everything count more.

So maybe it's fitting that when Riley finally presses inside of him _now_, that it's compulsively slow. And not in an unsatisfying way or even a teasing way, but almost as if every moan, every brush of fingers, every thrust is being ingrained, savored, and stored away. Zane groans weakly as Riley rocks into him, sighs at how soft Riley's grip is over his thighs, pulling him in, how tenderly Riley mouths at his collarbone. There are no marks tonight, no teeth, no scratches, just pressing and gliding and _loving_, and he knows that Riley can really hurt him now if he wants to—he's so much stronger, built up—but Riley just channels that energy and braces his weight. Makes Zane arch up into him and wind his legs around his body. Makes him whimper into Riley's neck.

"I think…you're trying to kill me with this," Zane rasps, flinging his head back against the pillow as Riley slides in again, so slow it practically aches, makes his nerves come alive like fire.

Riley manages a grin. "I never want to forget anything about you," he pants, the words slipping together like slush. He thrusts in again, rolling his hips as he does, and Zane cries out. "I want to remember this. I want _you_ to remember," he adds, gnawing on his lip and pressing in again, making Zane slam his eyes shut, mouth open. "I don't want to _rush_. And you're being so good…"

Zane tries to respond, but all that comes out of him is an embarrassing noise than makes Riley snort softly.

And he's shaking now, feeling his legs slipping down, too slick with sweat to hold on. He knows that if he asks, Riley will sped up and stop this maddening thing, but he likes it too much, he realizes almost foggily, relishes in the quiet burn of every sensation being stretched out. Riley leans down, whispers soft words against his forehead, silly endearments that actually make Zane laugh as Riley presses in again—and it's like he can't stop laughing. Riley smiles and kisses him sweetly for it, shivers against his lips, and it's like nothing else.

Time loses its footing as his breath comes out sharp and hitched as Riley thumbs the inside of his elbow or presses a kiss to the center of his palm. Brushes the sweaty hair out of his eyes. Paints a trail with his tongue, drawing warm swirls over his skin anywhere he can reach. Finds the perfect angle that makes Zane pull at the bedding, whiny sounds hiccupping out of him.

He surrenders to the rhythm of it as Riley slides into him again and again, drawing him to the happiest, slowest-building brink he's ever known.

And at some point their eyes lock, dark and gleaming, and Zane knows they're both close, but Riley doesn't speed up, just grins and fits a hand around Zane's cock, working him expertly in time to his thrusts. Warmth floods through their limbs, leaps across their spines and scatters in waves, and Zane smiles and tugs Riley's head down to kiss him as they spasm together, pressed tight, their sounds getting swallowed up in each other's mouths and dying out on their tongues.

They stay wrapped together for quite a while after, heartbeats fluttering wildly, and finally Riley brushes his knuckles against Zane's temple and pulls out of him. Tumbles next to his side.

The movement makes the bed bounce a little, and Zane chuckles dimly into the hollow of Riley's throat, shuddering against him. "I don't think I've ever smiled so much," he says honestly.

"Well there's something I can be proud of," Riley says faintly, voice awash with tired satisfaction.

"You keep surprising me," Zane continues, dragging his nails up Riley's ribcage and feeling the goosebumps that follow. "But you'll drive me insane if we do it like that _all_ the time."

"I just wanted…the last time we had sex here," Riley begins, sitting up with a bit of effort to roll off the condom and toss it away, "it was such a blur." He slumps back down so they're facing each other, flings an arm loosely over Zane's hips. "Everything else got in the way."

"So you do remember that day," Zane says carefully. "Or I guess, you don't _really_ remember…"

Riley lets out a drowsy breath. "It was birthday sex. I mean, I remember _you_, I always remember you, but…I took so much for granted back then."

Zane fits more snugly against him, relishes in the simple, familiar warmth. "Well, it'll be different this time. Because we're different."

"But we're not…_that_ different," Riley says quietly, shifting around so they're looking at each other fully. "You're still kinda bossy, you nag, everything has to be _your way_, and—"

"_You're _rash, and sloppy, and you take forever to do things," Zane counters, mildly unamused. "Like just now…how long did we even…"

Riley laughs, kisses his forehead and pulls away with a loud smack. "Dude, I wasn't checking the clock. But it's not like you didn't love it. Like, _completely_."

"That's beside the point," Zane mumbles, feeling his face heat up and not really caring.

"And the point is…what, exactly?"

Zane sighs. "I guess…that I want you around, so…I'm going to try to be less pushy. With certain things. Ease up somewhat."

Riley grins, and drums his fingers thoughtfully against Zane's lower back. "Well…that'll mean I have to stop giving you _reasons_ to be so pushy. And I might have to work on that a little."

Zane pokes him. "I would say more than a _little_…"

"Well, I would say _more than a little_ for you too."

"Mmm. Probably."

"So it'll be a work in progress for both of us. Fair enough?"

"It's a deal," Zane answers, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face. And it practically _hurts_ to smile now.

"Good," Riley says, sounding pleased. "So tell me, are you up for a surprise trip tomorrow?"

.

For the entire car ride the next morning, Riley refuses to tell him where they're driving to.

"What's the point of it being a _surprise_ if I tell you?" Riley maintains, eyes on the road ahead. "Just look out the window or something. Thirty minutes and we're there."

Sighing through his nose, Zane watches as they zip by countless buildings. They pass Degrassi and the Ravine, and the old construction site of their first date—now a series of modest apartment complexes. They drive by little shops on street corners, desperate for last-minute shoppers. The trees whirl past them like skeletons, sparse at first and then fanning out into thicker foliage, and eventually, they approach a neighborhood of quaint houses, far from where either of them lives.

Riley pulls up to the curb of one of them and takes the key out of the ignition. "We're here."

Zane peers out at the modest grey house, at its cobblestone path and mahogany door with beautiful, decorative glass. The yard looks well-maintained from what he can see despite the light snow, meticulously landscaped with a touch of flare.

Riley turns to him, eyes revealing a smidgen of uncertainty. "Okay, so, maybe this is putting you on the spot, but…my aunt and uncle live here, and I was hoping that you'd like to meet them. I know it's nothing special, but they're completely awesome and when I called them yesterday and told them about you, they totally flipped. In a good way. And so, um…I thought…"

Zane tugs at Riley's collar. "I'd be honored."

"They're gonna love you," Riley says in complete confidence, the words whooshing out of him.

Zane smiles softly at that before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. He has a sneaking suspicion that Riley's trying to make up for the birthday dinner from years ago, but he doesn't voice it aloud—mostly because he doesn't mind it. If Riley's parents weren't about to embrace them anytime soon, the next best thing would be someone else in Riley's family. People who could be happy for them. People who cared. People Zane could make a good impression on, and not be treated like some kind of scourge.

Riley takes his hand as they walk up to the front door, swiftly kisses his neck, seems so _relaxed_—and Zane is instantly more eager to meet the relatives that Riley feels so comfortable around.

(So he barely notices the way the blinds to one of the nearby windows quickly opens and shuts. Practically thinks nothing of it.)

Before they can even knock, Riley's aunt and uncle swing open the door and literally greet them with open arms, seizing them up into crushing hugs and barraging them with questions before they've even stepped into the house.

_How has school been? How's Anya? You know, we saw Athena the other day…_

_Ready for the game, sporto? Nervous? Don't be…_

_So this is the lucky boy? Well aren't you a handsome one! That smile, my goodness!_

_And what do you study, dear? It feels like we know so much about you already. Riley's gone on about you since high school…_

_Oh, you're both at Eastern now? Nothing long distance, eh? _

Zane lets himself be kissed by Riley's Aunt Margo and heartily shaken by his Uncle Paul, _multiple times_, and it feels like being in some sort of blender. In all his life, he's never been so fussed over. And it's kind of nice. Different, and a little smothering, but…nice.

He and Riley barely finish answering the first round of questioning walking through the entranceway and hanging up their coats. In the living room, he's offered (handed) something warm to drink and a place to sit, and he watches amusedly as Riley is still fawned over. From the hallway, an old, chubby golden retriever waddles over to him, noses at his hand, and he scratches the dog's head, fingers sinking into coarse fur. The nametag reads "BULL", and Zane supposes that the dog looks more like a bull than acts like one, especially when Bull lets out a yawn and plops down next to him.

Riley manages to escape from his aunt and uncle's bustling long enough to stride over to him, grinning hugely and shaking his head, slightly sheepish. But before Riley can even take a seat next to him, Aunt Margo calls Riley back over in a quiet tone, brows furrowed.

"Do they ever let you out of arm's length?" Zane whispers to him with a smile.

"Not often enough," Riley answers, giving Bull a quick pat before sighing and trudging back over.

Aunt Margo pulls him in close, murmurs something in his ear while Uncle Paul hangs back, eyes trained on the floor, and it's at that point that Zane drops his smile. Because he _knows_ secretive behavior when he sees it.

After a few, hovering moments, Riley steps away from his aunt. Glares at his uncle. Shakes his head. Looks around wildly.

And something's changed. _Clearly_.

Zane can see the flash of hurt in Riley's eyes, fresh like a stove burn, and Riley takes another step back, says something in Greek and his aunt replies with something else in turn. They carry on like that for a while, and Zane can't follow any of it, having only learned a handful of Greek words from Riley in the past. None of them useful in this situation.

"Give her a chance, Riley," his Uncle Paul urges, swinging the conversation back into English, hands on either side of his nephew's shoulders. "We wouldn't have agreed to this if we didn't think she was sincere about it."

"It's been months…years," Riley says. "She doesn't…how could you both just ambush me like this? I wanted…this was supposed to be about meeting _Zane_, not…"

"And we will, sweetheart, the day is still young," Aunt Margo says soothingly. "But for the moment, why don't you have an open mind, and let your mother—"

The kitchen door creaks open like a bad horror movie, and Zane's mouth goes dry nonetheless, because there are surprises and then there are _unfortunate turns of events_. Mrs. Stavros stands in the doorframe with her arms crossed in front of her, hair a little longer and less styled than what Zane had last remembered. Her eyes scan over the length of the living room, and fall slowly onto her son, lingering for what feels like a lifetime—an expression of a thousand combating emotions. Finally, she looks over at Zane, and her expression morphs again, because it's like she has the best poker face in history.

(The mask is back up.)

"Riley," Mrs. Stavros says, turning back to her son, "I know that you weren't expecting my presence today. And for being so sudden, I want to apologize. But when I called your aunt this morning and she let it slip that you'd be visiting…"

Her words seem brittle. Delicate. An icy silence settles in the air, broken only by a loud yawn from Bull.

"Ma," Riley mumbles finally, his body slumped at an odd angle, like he can't decide whether to be weary or miserable, "why are you _here_?"

Mrs. Stavros' mouth twists uncomfortably, but her gaze holds steady. "I'd like to have a word with you. Alone. Perhaps…in the kitchen? If you wouldn't mind…"

Riley turns to look back at him, and Zane nods with forced, vague reassurance.

(He's not sure what else to do.)

So with a visible, heavy swallow, Riley steps into the kitchen, and Mrs. Stavros shuts the door behind them.

And all Zane can do is wait.

.

.


	3. The Rock and the Tide

**Note:** Here's the last part. I think this is the kind of fic that could just go on and on, but I felt like I needed to end it _somewhere_. I hope you enjoyed it!

* * *

><p>To pass the time (and to fill up the deep silence of the living room), Aunt Margo turns on the TV, letting <em>A Christmas Story<em> run in the background.

"Knowing my sister, it'll be a while," she says, sighing good-naturedly.

"How did she get here?" Zane asks. "I didn't see her car…"

"She took the bus," Uncle Paul says. "_Two_ buses, actually. I suppose she was worried about Riley high-tailing it out of here after seeing her car."

"Well, there's no chance of that now," Zane mumbles.

"It'll be fine, dear," Aunt Margo reassures, reclining on the couch. "This is something they both need."

Zane nods solemnly.

Bull struggles to his feet and pulls a rawhide bone out from under the ottoman, settling down again to gnaw on it. After a few minutes of the three of them watching the TV, Uncle Paul ropes Zane into a game of chess, and Zane suspects that it's supposed to serve as a distraction of some sort.

Because this whole scene would almost be peaceful without the knowledge of the strained relationship carrying on in the kitchen—of Riley and his mother talking about…whatever it was that they were talking about.

And Zane doesn't know what to think, what to even _feel_, so he just wills his imagination to stop filling his head with improbable scenarios.

_Riley can handle himself. _

"You know," Uncle Paul says, smiling as he moves a knight on the board, "when Riley was a boy, he only liked checkers—never chess. But he eventually learned, and I'll tell you: he's pretty good at it too."

"I taught him how to play," Zane says faintly, thumbing one of his pawns.

"Did you now? And do you usually win against him when the two of you play?"

"Yes," Zane answers. "But he always beats me at checkers. Or…he always _beat_ me at checkers, I guess. It's been a while."

He frowns because he's reminded that he and Riley haven't played any type of board game since Grade 12. It seems that so many of their memories together fall into either the "when we first dated" or the "after we got back together" category. And now, new memories will go into the "hey, we're trying this again…third time's the charm, right?" file. It's something that can't exactly be _helped_, but it does give him pause.

One that's easily noticed by Uncle Paul. "You alright there, son?"

"Yeah," Zane says, finally moving his pawn. "I was just…reminiscing."

"About what?"

"Lost time, I guess," Zane admits.

(He has no idea why he's said it aloud, and to a man he barely knows, of all people. Perhaps the stress of waiting is getting to him.)

Uncle Paul chuckles. "Ah. The past is an interesting place to be. It's good to reflect, but it's easy to get lost in it, too—I've certainly been there. And if you're not careful, you can get possessed by the things you can't change. They take over your life, and you stop living. You always have to press forward."

Whether Riley's uncle is actively trying to instill wisdom or simply reciting fortune cookie quotes, Zane nods, feeling slightly embarrassed.

(He never likes sounding like he doesn't have it completely together all of the time.)

The minutes drag on, a paper chain sequence of events. Bull chews his bone down to the midpoint. The clock above the fireplace ticks relentlessly, and it's the kind of sound that once Zane focuses on it, he can't get it out of his head. Aunt Margo continues to watch the television absentmindedly, as Ralphie steps out in his pink bunny pajamas. And finally, _finally_—just as Zane is about to check Uncle Paul's king, despite his brain being a bowl of alphabet soup—the kitchen door opens.

Zane waits a few seconds before looking up from the chess board, not wanting to seem too anxious…and also to prepare himself a little. For anything. Everything. But apparently, he takes a bit too long, because Riley softly calls his name and Zane snaps his head up, only to see Riley standing right above him.

_Smiling_.

Slowly, Riley crouches beside him, resting a hand over his thigh. And it's probably a little higher up than what's entirely appropriate for being around three relatives, but Zane doesn't shrug him off.

"Did it go okay?" Zane whispers.

"Yeah," Riley says, smiling a little wider and looking almost…relieved. "Everything's great."

Zane bites back a relentless stream of questions, because he doesn't want to pry. Not at the moment, not here—Riley will tell him later. In private.

(It's just how they are.)

"Riley," Mrs. Stavros calls from the doorway. "Is he…?"

Zane raises an eyebrow at him. "Now what?"

"I told her that you have every right to say no," Riley prefaces, leaning in, "but she uh, wants to speak to you too. If you're cool with it."

"I…"

There's a part of him that wants to laugh at how stupidly dramatic and secretive this whole thing is turning out to be. There's another part—a vindictive part, he supposes—that wants to flat-out say no. And yet…Riley is _still smiling_, like a tremendous burden has vanished, like life couldn't get any better, and…

"Alright," Zane says dully, licking his lips. "Okay."

He feels himself stand and shift on his feet, walking past Bull and Riley's aunt and uncle. Feels himself step in front of Mrs. Stavros, brown eyes sizing up her inscrutable blue.

He takes a deep breath and holds her gaze. Tries not to waver. Tries not to seem like a _child_.

"Shall we?" Mrs. Stavros says impassively, summoning him in. Riley moves to follow, but she shakes her head and blocks his path.

"I want this to be alone, as well," she says simply.

"Oh," Riley says, sounding a little let down. "Sure thing."

"And don't you go listening at the door," she warns, almost wryly.

Riley stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods. "I'll just be waiting out here, then."

"Away from the door," she repeats.

"Yes ma'am."

(And Zane _swears_ that Riley winks at him before Mrs. Stavros shuts the door with an unavoidable, creaky thud.)

Wordlessly, the two of them shuffle across the room, moving to sit at the kitchen table next to the window—the one that, Zane realizes, Mrs. Stavros was watching them out of earlier—and the whole thing doesn't get any less silly. There are two mugs of tea already set, neither of them fresh. Zane can tell which one was Riley's, judging by the two spilled drops next to it.

"I could pour you a cup, if you'd like," Mrs. Stavros offers.

"That's alright, I'm fine," Zane answers. "But thank you," he adds quickly, toying with the handle of Riley's mug. "So…Riley's had some season this year, hasn't he?" Zane starts, not really sure what Mrs. Stavros could _possibly_ want to say to him alone and choosing the safest-possible topic.

Or so he thinks.

"Has he?" she asks, genuinely curious.

Zane shakes his head. Did she and Riley really spend over an hour talking and not discuss football _at all_? It's incomprehensible. "You…didn't catch a game this year? I'm pretty sure at least one of them aired up here."

(He tries to say it as politely as he can.)

"I've never watched one. I…things have been _difficult_." She makes a sound that almost passes for a sigh, and Zane's eyebrows shoot up into his head.

"The news, then," he tries. "Or highlights off the web…"

"No, I…"

She doesn't finish, setting her jaw, and it's then that Zane seriously doubts _why_ Riley is out in the living room smiling away.

"Well," Zane says, "Just so you know, Riley's team, they've had three straight winning seasons. They've been invited to bowl games every year. Eastern won the one last year…and Riley will be flying off soon to start practicing for the third."

"Yes, he mentioned that he leaves tomorrow," she says.

Zane swallows, feeling like he's about to make a sales pitch, or something. "Your son is…an incredible athlete, Mrs. Stavros. Everything you could ever want in a QB. He works _incredibly_ hard, and he's one of the best in the States. All the experts say it's practically a given that he'll be drafted. And that's…considering everything he's gone through, that's _beyond_ phenomenal. Historic, even."

She slowly nods. Processing. The first silence settles between them, and Zane decides that he won't be the one to break it. _She_ needs to talk. Because right now, he's trying to pull back layers that seem super glued together. A minute passes. Then two. The refrigerator hums. He won't give in. He'll wait as long as it takes. She asked him here. She—

"You had a birthday recently," Mrs. Stavros murmurs.

"What?" He searches for the words to answer her out-of-the-blue question. "Uh, yeah. December 3rd."

She turns her attention away from him, towards the window. "Yes. I remember because Riley had made a big deal that one year about needing to buy the perfect gift for…_someone special_."

She frowns as she says it, and Zane wonders if she'd known, then. About them being together.

Probably not.

"That was some time ago," Zane says softly.

"Yes. It was."

Another pause. Another silence.

And it wasn't always like this—soundless and tense. There was a time, a brief, _good_ time, when he used to be able to hold a conversation with this woman. To talk about gardening tips over a dinner she cooked, or discuss the latest book he'd read during halftime, with Riley looking amused on the couch. Back when she knew him as _Riley's friend_. Back when he could still walk into the Stavros household as a welcome guest, and not feel her eyes on him constantly, spitefully, like he'd betrayed her trust. Like he was a problem to be dealt with. Erased.

She brings her hands away from her lap and rests them on the table. Folds them warily. "Riley mentioned that you both just got back in touch. That you're together again."

"Yes."

"And before that, he said that you were…involved…with other people."

"Other men," Zane clarifies, testing the waters with her a little.

She opens her mouth. Clamps it shut. "Other…_yes_. But you aren't seeing them anymore?"

"Not in the slightest."

"And you…when you were involved with them…_intimately_…you…you took care not to…you didn't…"

(He can see that she's coming from a position of motherly concern, and he can't really blame her for that. Having _this_ kind of conversation with her doesn't particularly bother him, but he wonders if she's already grilled Riley over the same things. He can certainly picture _him_ squirming.)

"Mrs. Stavros," he says, looking her dead straight in the eye with a tight smile, figuring that should work best, "I don't sleep around, and I don't _sleep_ with people who sleep around. I do _relationships_. Exclusive relationships."

Her hands tighten in discomfort, like she has to fight against herself to force out her words. She breaks away from his gaze, peers down into her mug. "So you're always…safe, then? I've read that—"

"All of my partners get tested and I always use protection."

"I see."

More silence. Giant, engulfing silence, like a beast that sits between them. Entirely unwelcome, entirely necessary.

Finally, she looks back up at him. "You love my son."

It's not really a statement, but not quite a question either.

"More than anything," he answers.

She nods rapidly, as if she expected him to say that—as if she's resigned herself to it. "I don't know how much Riley told you about what happened with his father and myself…"

"He told me everything."

"Right. Of course he did," she mutters. "Then…I'd like you to know that I'm trying…to be supportive. I'm not where I want to be just yet, but I am _trying_, now." She pauses momentarily, seems almost uncertain. "Your parents, did they ever…have difficulties?"

"No. My parents never thought there was something wrong with me. And their love never wavered."

_Not the right thing to say._

_Not. _

_At._

_All._

It's too harsh, too assumptive. It's throwing his entitlement in her face. And he figures that he's blown it with her. He thinks of Riley's disappointment. He waits for her to tell him off.

But all she does is laugh, a dry, humorless sound that makes him stiffen in his seat. "How fortunate for _you_. As for me…for a long time, it was easier to believe that if I just shut my son out—stopped talking to him, _pretended_ not to care—that he would change. That I could _make_ him change. And for a while, I actually thought it was working."

He shakes out of his shock that she hasn't bitten his head off yet. That she's being honest with him. "Well Riley…he likes pleasing people."

She nods. "Up to a certain degree. He can also be very stubborn, and stick to his ways."

"Definitely."

They're close to easing some of the friction between them—chipping down walls—but once again, she looks away.

"I never imagined it would be like this," she says distantly, watching a bird hop on a branch outside the window.

She doesn't expand on that, but Zane can see that it's a struggle just to keep all of her thoughts together. Just to keep _talking_.

"My husband," she says quietly, "has not chosen to ruminate on things as much as I have. His hostility is gone, but he isn't at the point where he can approach my son, or even hear his voice. But _I'm_ not the person I was years ago."

"So does that mean," Zane says carefully, "that you aren't telling people that Riley's pretending to be gay for the media attention, anymore?"

She visibly flinches.

(It's another risk, another chance for her to shut him out, but he has to know.)

"That wasn't something I perpetuated. My husband—"

"Well do you still endorse it, then?"

"No," she says, eyes brimming with something close to ignominy. "In recent months, I've taken it upon myself to correct that lie. And ever since, most of our family has…stopped fighting the truth. They're coming to terms with it, I suppose."

"And have you?"

"I'm _trying_," she repeats, slightly harsher. "My son is gay. I accept that. And I accept that you and he are…" she motions hastily with a hand, pointedly avoiding his gaze, "…fully intimate. Like you were _before_. But above all else, I want to be a part of my son's life again. He is more important to me than his _choices_."

Before Zane can object to her phrasing, she shakes her head, as if correcting herself. "How he is, I mean. How he was born."

She shifts a little in her seat before continuing. "And as for you…Riley never told me who he was dating, back then. Not at the start. But I saw a change in him, and I knew that she had to be special. And back then I was…really hoping it was a _she_. But apparently, things can't be that _simple_."

She pauses again, takes a long, quivering sip of her tea, and it's Zane's turn to look away for once. He has to direct his frustration and pity away from her. Center himself.

"I blamed you, for a long time. For everything," she says, voice nearly inaudible. "Truth be told, I was _happy_ when I realized Riley had put an end to things with you. I thought everything would turn around." She folds her hands again, wrinkled and worn from age and years of scrubbing, and Zane decides to focus on them instead of _her_, because his irritation is only rising. "And then I saw my son's face. He was miserable, he was a shell, and that only made me blame you further."

She moves to take another drink of tea, but decides against it, setting down the mug and pushing it away, as if she recognizes she's only using it to stall for time. Zane's prepared for another silence from her (and frankly, would welcome it right about now), but it doesn't come.

"But I've reflected on things a great deal since then. And I've come to realize that the person I should've been blaming…was myself. So much could've been avoided if I'd done better in terms of my actions and my understanding."

Slowly, Zane locks eyes with her again. "It wasn't just you," he allows. "Riley and I, we both had our issues to sort out. Things that went beyond your discomfort. _We_ had problems."

She shakes her head. "That's kind of you. But we both know I didn't help things in the slightest."

She leans forward, and it's _then_ that Zane can see just how much she's aged in three years. Weary lines etched into her face, bags under her eyes. Light makeup, little pampering. A woman scarred with deep regret, down to the bone.

"When I was talking with Riley just now, we covered so much," she says. "And yet, for some reason, our conversation always seemed to steer back to you." She laughs slightly, a way to expel emotion more than anything else. "And I wasn't expecting that when I arrived here today. I wasn't prepared for _you_. Riley is…living for himself, now. If I were to ask him to stop seeing you, he wouldn't. I'm sure of it. So as it stands, it seems that you and he are a package deal. And as I mentioned, I want my son back. No matter the obstacle."

She says it so abstractedly, like the idea of _them_ is still so completely overwhelming. And while her words do sting—_what will it ever take for this woman to be pleased with him?_—he can't get in the way of mother and son. His 18-year-old self would've been all for abruptly inserting himself, would've demanded complete recognition, but…

He isn't that boy anymore. He can see _beyond_ himself, now.

"Mrs. Stavros," he says squarely, "I think that getting back on good terms with your son _overrides_…you don't have to embrace me with open arms right now, I can—"

"You misunderstand me," she says, a peculiar warmth to her tone. "I'm _glad_ Riley has someone like you, and I sincerely hope that you stick around. For him. And I know that your opinion of me must not be favorable, right now. Because I was unfair to you. To both of you. But while my husband isn't ready to move forward, I am. And that's why I asked you here alone, to sit with me—because part of going forward, in my eyes, means making amends. I love my son, so much, but I'm also aware that he loves you _hopelessly_. You are…so incredibly important to him, I saw that every day in my own house and I didn't…I _am_ sorry, Zane."

Something inside of his chest seizes up. And it's not her words; not entirely.

It's just…it occurs to him that she's never spoken his _name_ until now.

Ever.

"I'm going to continue working to accept and adjust," she murmurs. "I can't promise everything all at once. I still need my own time to sort through things, and I hope that you can understand. Though Riley…he says that you are…a patient person."

Zane smiles, his first full, bright smile since stepping into the kitchen. "I tend to be."

It takes her a moment, but she manages to smile as well, a tight, stiff stretch of lips that betrays the true, honeyed emotion in her eyes. "Well," she says quickly, pushing away from the table, "I think I've wrung enough drama out of this whole affair. At least for one day."

She stands with her purse and hastily turns away, towards the door, but not before gently pressing a hand against his back in what seems to be a fleeting attempt at a shoulder pat.

(He'll take it.)

When they both walk out into the living room, Riley is literally pacing by the sliding glass door to the backyard, and Bull has whittled his bone down to a mushy stub. Riley's aunt and uncle are the first to spot them, but Riley's the one who makes a scene, clambering over furniture while nearly tripping over his own feet, and then not knowing what to say, mouth gaping like a fish on land.

Finally, Riley gives him a shy smile. "Everything go alright?"

"Of course," Zane says, smiling back.

(It's still cryptic between them, but again, they'll talk about it later. When they're alone.)

There's a chance for things to get awkward in the room, but Mrs. Stavros loudly clears her throat. Everyone turns to face her, as if pulled by invisible strings.

"I think I've stayed long enough," she announces, folding her arms in front of her with an air of finality. "Riley, I'll be calling you soon."

"Delia, I could certainly drive you home," Uncle Paul offers. "There's no need for you to take the bus back…"

"I'm fine, Paul. But thank you. The ride should do me some good."

She walks away without another word, and no one goes to stop her. It's clear she needs to be alone.

But just as her hand grazes the doorknob, Riley takes a deep breath. "Ma…"

She spins back around, already looking drained. _Letting_ herself look drained. A peeled onion trying to flee. "Yes, son?"

"You know…on New Year's, the MacPhersons and a few others are gonna get together for my bowl game, like they do every year," Riley begins hesitantly. "Aunt Margo and Uncle Paul even went last time…"

"And we'll be going again, Sporto—I've already put in a call to Pam," Uncle Paul says, clapping Riley on the back.

Riley nods at him appreciatively before refocusing his energy on his mother, systematically clenching and unclenching his hands. Seemingly battling the last of his nerves with her. The final shred of uncertainty. "So I was wondering…I mean, if you're not too busy and you wanted to…I could check with Anya. See about making room for one more. If…if you want."

And despite Riley's nonchalant tone, Zane knows that there's probably nothing else in the world that Riley would want _more_. Stepping beside him, he silently takes Riley's hand in his own. Intertwines their fingers and squeezes tightly.

Mrs. Stavros looks down at their hands.

"I suppose," she says slowly, blinking back up at them, eyes clear and nearly serene, "that if it wouldn't be an inconvenience, then…tell Anya I'll be there. To see you play."

"…Thanks Ma."

And Zane doesn't need to turn his head—he can hear the profound smile in Riley's voice.

.

He drives Riley to the airport at 5 a.m. on Christmas Day, stops at the curb, kills the engine. Looks over. Riley is half-asleep next to him, head lulling forward and eyelids fluttering.

"Hey," Zane says softly, rubbing his shoulder, "we're here."

Riley groans weakly and blinks a few times, opens his eyes fully. "I hate morning flights."

"You hate _mornings_. But c'mon. You can always sleep on the plane." Zane reaches around his own neck and takes off the simple necklace he's worn for years. The one he bought at a craft sale weeks after Thomas had broken up with him (_"You crazy kid, go mack on someone your own age…"_). The one he bought days before watching Riley Stavros—star Panther—rush into yoga class two minutes late, forced to set his (brand new) mat up at the front, right next to him. "This is for you, since I can't tag along," he says, taking Riley's hand and pressing the cold metal of the necklace into his palm. "I know it's not the same as having me _around_, but…Merry Christmas."

Riley gives him a sleepy grin. "And here I thought you'd grown out of the whole vanity thing," he jokes, the words a little slurred and sluggish. "But…_thank you_. For your gift, I—"

"It's fine, Riley," Zane says with a laugh. "I don't need anything else from you. Really."

As if to prove his point, he leans over and takes Riley's face in his hands, tugs him in for what's supposed to be a quick kiss but quickly spirals into something more—sweet and burning and spirited—something he wouldn't mind carrying on endlessly. Riley smiles into his mouth, fully awake now, and pulls back just a fraction.

"I was going to say," Riley murmurs determinedly, their lips occasionally brushing because they're still so close, "that _for your present_, you'll have to wait. Until January 1st, that is."

Zane thinks for a moment, and then shoves Riley lightly. "I don't need for you to win a game for—"

Riley crushes their lips back together, before pulling away just as quickly. Presses a kiss to his forehead, his temple, the tip of his nose, the spot under his jawline that always makes him shudder. "Just watch the game, okay? And enjoy."

"You know I will. But…stay focused. Keep your head clear. I don't want to become a distraction for you. Eastern would kill me ten times over."

"You've never _stopped_ being a distraction," Riley acknowledges, flushing slightly. "But now I've gotten, like, years of experience dealing with you being in my head. I can manage. Don't worry, no one at Eastern's gonna have a reason to hate you—I wouldn't let them."

Zane shakes his head, bites his cheek. He knows his face must be just as flushed as Riley's—and it's like they're teenagers again, emotions running rampant like wild wildebeests. "How is it possible for me to keep loving you _more_?"

Riley smirks. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I don't think I could ever love you _enough_, so…"

Zane rolls his eyes. "Okay Romeo, you really have to go. I don't want you to miss your flight. You know how bad the holiday crowds can be."

Riley sighs over-dramatically and nods. "Fine. Anyways, I think security's giving us the side-eye over there for parking too long. I swear, it's like they always have it in for us…"

Zane laughs quietly, kisses Riley's cheek. "Go have fun in Orlando."

"I'll call you tonight. And I'll remind you of your upcoming present every day."

"Riley…"

"New Year's. Don't forget!" Riley says cheerily, giving him a teasing wink before unbuckling his seatbelt. He puts on the necklace, centering it carefully before getting out of the car. And pulling out his bags from the back, he loiters on the sidewalk, waving goodbye in the dorky way he always has.

Zane smiles and holds up a hand, and watches Riley until he can't anymore, as he disappears through the entrance doors. And even though it's only temporary, Zane has never been very good with goodbyes.

.

"…and after Anya talked my ear off for over an hour, we had a holiday dinner, just the team and the staff," Riley says to him over the phone. "It was a feast. Coach Newman almost choked on a turkey bone, and Coach Gamby was _totally_ ready to do the Heimlich on him. You should've seen it."

"So what, they load you guys up with dinner rolls and mashed potatoes and then they expect you to haul up out of your beds at 6 tomorrow for football practice?"

"Nah. Practice is in the afternoon. We're doing a thing at DisneyQuest in the morning…playing arcade games with some disadvantaged kids from the area."

"That should be fun," Zane says, stretching out on his bed. "Giving back, and all."

"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it. Community stuff like that is one of the perks of playing, you know? But anyways, I'm glad to be back with everyone. I've missed these guys."

Zane can hear several boisterous voices in the background; the sounds of people passing by. Riley's talking to him in the hallway oddly enough, because it's far quieter than back in his hotel room, where several of his teammates have the TV cranked up.

"And me?" Zane asks teasingly. "Don't I get to be missed too?"

"Well obviously," Riley says softly, and Zane can almost picture Riley's coy smile and fidgeting hands. "I could never…I wish you were here right now. You'd love the...oh _great_, so much for privacy…hang on…yeah, very funny, all of you. Hilarious."

"Riley, who are you talking to?"

Zane overhears off-key singing in the background—by Riley's teammates, he supposes—and it sounds like a Beyoncé pop ballad that he isn't quite familiar with. He hears Riley telling them to _knock it off_, and the singing dies down, only to be replaced with loud laugher and even louder, ribbing voices. And finally, someone insistently asking for Riley's phone.

Riley sighs, the sound crackling through the receiver. "Zane, I'm sorry, but he's not gonna stop being a damn _asshole_ until he gets to talk to you."

"Huh? Who's not going to—"

"Yeah…hello? Is this Zane?" a crisp voice asks, infused with the kind of swagger that top athletes seem to share.

"Uh…yes. May I ask who I'm speaking to?"

There's a pause, followed by a long whistle. "_Damn_ dude, you're like, totally proper. Whoa. This is Marcus Williams. I'm—"

"—one of Eastern's star wide receivers. And Riley's roommate of three years," Zane says in recognition.

"So Riley's told you about me, has he? Cause I've heard a lot about you. You're Riley's boy, huh?"

Zane laughs slightly. "Yes. I'm his _boy_."

"And you're treating him right? Not messing with his head?"

"I certainly don't think so…"

"Yeah, well, you better not. You go to Eastern now, don't you?"

"I transferred, yes."

"Good. So I can get a real good look at you next semester and see whether you're—"

"Sorry about that," Riley cuts in, slightly huffy. He mumbles something away from the phone, and Zane can hear Marcus cracking up in the background. "These guys, they're just…"

"They're looking out for you. It's cute, actually."

"Zane…"

"I should let you go," he says, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. "I'm sure you have curfew soon?"

"Yeah," Riley says reluctantly. "So again, January 1st, TSN—"

"Holy cow Riley, I'm not going to be doing anything else that day besides hanging out at Anya's and watching you play. Trust me."

"I was just checking…"

Zane laughs. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"

He can hear Riley give a long-suffering sigh.

"Just watch till the end and you'll see why."

.

Zane sits in the MacPherson's living room on New Year's Day, sandwiched between Anya and Peter on the couch…with Owen sitting right next to Anya. Because Anya had _invited_ him.

(Riley had asked Zane to discreetly observe whether Owen was trying to "put the moves" on her, and idly Zane wonders if draping an arm over her shoulders constitutes anything more than simple, friendly behavior.)

Meanwhile, Pam and Harold are curled together on the love seat, and Riley's aunt and uncle sit closest to the array of snacks that Zane won't touch. Can't touch.

(Riley's games will always make him too nervous to eat, apparently.)

Over by the window, Athena is perched next to Mrs. Stavros, who only looks marginally uncomfortable and out-of-place. Zane is glad for both of their presences—for Mrs. Stavros making the effort to support her son and for Athena just_ being around_, murmuring excitedly to the older woman. Hailing from a traditional family herself, Athena seems to know just how to ease Mrs. Stavros into things. It will take time to reach anything approaching normalcy in the Stavros household, but it'll happen. Zane is sure of it. After all, he already considers it progress that Mrs. Stavros is here with the rest of them, ready to cheer Riley on.

_It's a start_, Zane thinks as the game begins. _A good start._

Anya is loud as Eastern scores a touchdown early in the first quarter, and so are her parents, who holler and jump up as if they're in the stands of the Citrus Bowl stadium and not on a green leather couch in Toronto. At the half, Eastern is so far ahead and has already broken a record or two that Peter elbows him.

"So is Riley really dedicating this game to you, dude?"

"Who told you that?"

"I did," Anya admits. "It's like, all Riley's been talking about these last few days. And isn't it _romantic _Peter?"

"I…guess. At least it explains why he's playing so well," Peter says. He leans in and grins. "For a second there, I thought Riley was back on the 'roids again," he whispers.

Owen's eyes widen and Anya shoots Peter a nasty glare, hiking her foot over Zane to kick Peter's shin.

"Ouch, hey, it was a joke—"

"A bad one," Anya says through gritted teeth. "Riley stopped with that stuff after beating the snot out of Sav. You know that."

Peter sheepishly apologizes, Anya nods, and Zane shakes his head at the childlike behavior he's surrounded by.

In the third quarter, the announcers try to talk up the other team like they can still rally from behind (_"They need to tighten that defense! Play smart. Stay collected!"_), but it's really no use. Riley makes a clean pass to Marcus who zips down the field, and it's yet another touchdown for Eastern.

And by the fourth, the game's conclusion looks inevitable, especially after Riley throws for his fifth touchdown. So much so that Owen starts talking about the Rose Bowl coming up instead, and Peter wonders aloud the type of "bowl game swag" Riley will return with.

"A Best Buy gift card, I'm sure. Not like that's a _bad_ thing," Athena says thoughtfully.

Zane turns his attention to Mrs. Stavros during a commercial break, because for the entire matchup, she hasn't said a word, hasn't really taken her eyes off the screen. Hasn't done more than nod as Athena's made observations next to her, or Riley's aunt and uncle have brought up _how well_ Riley's doing.

He keeps eyeing her, taking in her stone-faced expression, and as if Mrs. Stavros feels the heat of his gaze, she turns to look at him suddenly. His cheeks burn, startled and embarrassed at being caught spying, and after a moment, she smiles at him, just barely. In amusement. In _understanding_. And he smiles back, until Owen accidentally steps on his foot after swiping a second helping of chicken wings from the kitchen, and then the moment's broken.

With only a few minutes left in the game, the on-air commentary switches into reflection mode, the announcers talking about what the win means for Eastern's future, singling out the key players, and when it comes to Riley, throwing out words like "exceptional" and "career-defining". Meanwhile in the living room, the conversation switches again—into a (loud) squabbling match between Anya, Peter, and Owen. About how Riley will, like, _totally_ be named MVP, and how, yeah, Riley was awesome ("Playing for love!" Anya coos), but how he'll _absolutely_ be returning for his senior year at Eastern, _stupid_, and not enter the draft early.

"Forgive him for wanting to get a degree," Anya says irritably, arms folded.

"Yeah, in freaking _sociology_," Peter dismisses. "Why bother when he can go into the draft now? We're talking potential _millions_ here."

"Oh I'm sorry, I was under the impression that school was for getting an education, not a spring board for going pro early."

Owen rubs her shoulder. "Anya, baby, look, Peter's right, it's—"

"Baby? Baby? _Excuse me_, but I haven't been your _baby_ in a long time."

"Okay, just…sorry," Owen backpedals, looking slightly wounded. "But hear me out. If Riley goes another year at Eastern, it's a big risk. He could get injured so bad it ends his season. Or he could completely bomb. And it'll drop his draft status, which means less money."

"Or no money, if he doesn't get drafted at all, and no one takes him as a free agent," Peter adds. "But then there's always the CFL, so..."

Owen makes a gagging sound.

Peter shoots him an angry look. "Dude, I'm all for speaking your mind, but this is where I draw the line. So don't even go there."

"_Or_," Anya challenges, trying to corral the guys back to the topic at hand, "Riley could take his last year and do even better, get ranked even higher…"

"But have you read the reports?" Peter asks.

Owen nods. "If he enters now, he's got a great shot at being an early round pick. Why screw that up?"

"Well gentlemen, I hate to burst both of your NFL bubbles, but Riley already told me he's staying for another year," Anya says triumphantly. "He's gonna make the media announcement in a few days with some of the other guys on the team. Right, Zane?"

Everyone, including the adults, whip their heads around to face him. "That's what he tells me," Zane says after a beat.

"Seriously?" Peter asks dubiously.

"That's stupid," Owen says.

Zane shrugs at them calmly. "I think it shows commitment. And it's Riley's decision."

"Yeah," Owen mutters, "to get another year to frolic with you in the fields at Eastern."

Anya narrows her eyes. "What was that?"

Owen looks back at her unapologetically, and Peter snickers while Zane sighs and smiles distantly. Anya opens her mouth again, ready to start another round of arguing, when Athena tells them all to _hush_, because it's over and Riley's been named as the player of the game.

It's a 40-15 win.

The teams walk across the field, sharing or accepting congratulations from each other. Coach Gamby talks with the opposing head coach, as the Eastern band plays proudly in the background. The camera zooms in on Riley, who gets a hearty slap on the back from Marcus and Cal. By now, Zane knows most of them—Mac jumping, fists pumped, Noah hollering, Tyson barreling into Elliot. There are the pranksters, the jokers, the diligent students and the party animals, the stoics and the mama's boys. The committed boyfriends and the skirt chasers.

Riley cheers with all of them, but quickly jogs over to Coach Gamby, who latches onto him and doesn't let go, even as the reporters start swarming in. Coach Gamby is asked to quickly say a little about Eastern's success, and the older man carries on in a thick Southern drawl for a few sentences before insisting that Riley talk. Riley seems to look around before zeroing in on a particular news reporter and camera—the one that Zane and the rest are watching from home. The camera focuses in on his face as he speaks, talking about his performance. And there's a point where Riley's expression shifts from tired pride to something softer—a tender smile, eyes twinkling—as he talks about _the important people in his life_ that motivate him to work his hardest, to always strive to be better, the ones who never stop believing in him, and…

Zane's mouth drops. A warmth spreads over him.

It's like Riley's speaking directly to him, as ridiculous as that sounds. Except, it's not. Because Zane realizes that _this_ was Riley's present all along—not winning the game, not a stellar performance, but a _look_ on camera, one meant just for him. Their own little moment, miles apart, like a secret between them in the face of oblivious fans. Anya picks up on it too, nudges him knowingly, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, burying his head and his disbelieving smile. Mrs. Stavros gives them both a curious look across the room before turning back to the screen.

It's not some grand proclamation of undying love, or an announcement of their relationship—and Zane doesn't _need that_, doesn't want it—for a variety of reasons. There'll be time for Riley to be hounded by the press down the road, people will find out eventually, and it's just the price to pay for being in the spotlight. But for now, seeing Riley talk through to him, and _knowing_ that he's doing it…it's everything.

It's a gift.

.

"So you really don't want to come, Zane?" his roommate Daniel asks, bundling up in a second coat. "It's gonna be me, Trisha, Alex, Paul, Steph…class starts in two days and—"

"I already have plans," Zane answers with a smile. "But go have fun."

Daniel chuckles a little. "You sure you're okay, dude? You've been acting kinda weird lately, taking off—what's with all the solitary gallivanting?"

Zane shifts in his chair. Scratches behind his ear. Barely hesitates. "I'm…actually dating someone. And we're gonna check out that new exhibit at Trillium Square."

"Really? So is this _someone_ as crazy about art as you are?" Daniel tuts, slipping on his shoes.

Zane smiles, mostly to himself. "No. He uh, sort of tolerates it for my sake."

"Well, if he puts up with art, then he must be really into you. So why haven't I met him yet?"

There's a knock at the door, which is already open a crack. Daniel makes a face at him as if to ask, _Is this the guy?_, and Zane nods quickly. Prepares for the inevitable. Riley pokes his head in, and seems a little surprised to see Daniel, but brushes it off well enough.

Daniel, however, gasps audibly at the sight of him.

"Hey," Riley greets softly at the both of them, shuffling in and dusting the snowflakes out of his hair. "Some girl named Trisha in the lobby let me in."

"That's my girlfriend. You met my g-girlfriend," Daniel stammers, eyes wide and fixed on Riley.

"The weather's still that bad outside?" Zane asks, trying to ignore Daniel's spazzing.

"It's manageable. The roads are still decent, at least—we should be fine," Riley says. He looks over at Daniel. "So you're the roommate, right? Nice to meet you."

Daniel blinks at him. "Yeah, I'm Dan. And you're…uh…you're…"

"I'm Riley—"

"I know who you are," Daniel rushes. He glances back at Zane. "You're dating him? _Him_?"

"Yes," Zane says brightly.

"Holy shit," Daniel breathes, bringing a hand up to his forehead, "I gotta tell Trisha and Steph and—wait, is this supposed to be some big secret, or…"

Riley doesn't say anything, looks over at the wall, like Daniel's posters are somehow _fascinating _all of a sudden, so Zane answers. "It's not a secret," Zane says loudly, momentarily stifling his frustration at Riley's silence. "But anyways, you know how Trisha hates to be kept waiting, so…"

"Right," Daniel says. "Okay. So I'll uh…see you two later and uh," Daniel pauses, hanging in the doorway, "Riley, man, I just gotta say, it's awesome you're sticking with us for another year. We're gonna slaughter it in the fall. Beat the shit out of everybody."

Riley raises an eyebrow. "Uh…definitely."

Daniel smiles awkwardly at them before vanishing down the hallway, and Zane can already imagine how at least ten other people will know that they're dating before the end of the night.

Riley shuts the door and leans against it. "He seems nice enough."

"He's a good friend," Zane says edgily, getting up off of his chair and sitting cross-legged on his bed.

Riley frowns at him. "You ready to go?"

Zane shakes his head. "We've got some time. Could you come sit?"

"Yeah…sure thing."

Riley kicks off his shoes, stripping off his jacket and scarf before settling down next to him. It's quiet; a minute ticks by and neither of them says a word. Zane stares a little past Riley's left ear, willing his fortitude to serve him like it always has.

_There's no need to panic just yet. _

Finally, Riley clears his throat. "Did I do something wrong, or…?"

"You seem uncertain about this," Zane says quietly. It's always ups and downs with them. Push and pull, back and forth like the rolling tide. "About being public in terms of…us."

Riley tilts his head. "It's not that…"

"Really? Because I'm _pretty sure_ you were _just_ making the same face you did back when I said I'd wanted to join Degrassi's football team. And we both know how that turned out."

Riley reaches out to touch his knee. "I don't want to hide you. I've just been thinking lately and…"

"And?"

"I get worried. If we do this, _really do this_, you could become a target. People might get up in your face, or they might try to hurt you or—"

"I'm willing to take that risk," Zane says, relieved that his own safety is all that's holding Riley back. "I can handle it."

Riley stares at him desperately. "But Zane, I don't know if I could…if something happened to you, I…"

He looks down. Clearly, this line of thinking has been gnawing at him for some time.

_It's always something. _

Gingerly, Zane brushes his fingertips over Riley's hand, and Riley squeezes his knee tighter, almost reflexively.

"You put yourself in harm's way every day, on and off the field," Zane says to him gently. "The death threats, every time you get sacked—"

"Hey, I don't get sacked all _that_ much…"

"But when you do," Zane insists, smiling slightly at Riley's insulted glare, "don't you think I get worried too? But I let you do what you love, because I love _you_. So if we're going to be fair here, then…"

"I get it," Riley says with great reluctance. "I do. But I mean, just say—"

Zane kisses him, not really to silence him but to reassure him in a different way, because Riley always responds to physicality. Running his tongue across Riley's bottom lip, he crawls into Riley's lap, winds his arms around his neck. It's soft, _so soft_, from the way Riley hums against his mouth, to how he trails his fingers down his spine, tugging him in closer. And with a final, almost chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, Riley pulls away, rests his forehead against Zane's shoulder.

"It'll be fine," Zane says breathlessly, combing a hand through Riley's hair, still damp from the snow. "You get so paranoid. Nothing that bad is gonna happen. A few unflattering blog entries, a dirty look or two, and that's it. I promise you."

"Why do you always have to be so optimistic?" Riley mumbles from somewhere against his chest.

"Well, why do _you_ have to be so pessimistic?" Zane tosses back at him. "Surely that kind of attitude didn't get you through three amazing seasons at Eastern?"

"I can hide it well enough in front of the camera. Or…that's what the coaches tell me at least. But with you…"

"Different story?"

Riley laughs. "Always. And really, I'm so glad to have you here…but…you're _sure_ you want to do this, even with the risks?" he asks, lifting his head and looking up, since Zane is positioned slightly above him. There's a tempered excitement in his eyes, a boyish expression. "Like, really sure?"

Zane nods, fingering his own necklace that's still hung around Riley's neck. "Absolutely. We're doing this."

"Okay then," Riley says with a grin. "We are."

.

Early in the semester, Zane meets several members of the Salamanders team—is fully scrutinized, looked over, and interrogated by them—and gets their stamp of approval, after dealing with questions like "I thought you'd be shorter" and "you smile all the time, _damn_" and "we were beginning to think Riley was celibate or asexual or something…with all the dudes he's turned down over the years".

After a dinner at Rico's with Marcus, Cal, Noah, and a few others, Riley walks back with him to their separate dorms—Harvil and Wishard—which are only a few buildings apart. It's late and only a Wednesday, so the campus is fairly clear and quiet, just the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the occasional, bitter wind rustling the trees.

"You're always such a charmer," Riley says to him after a few blocks, as they pass by the School of Business, taking the shortcut by the statue of Old Key Morris that gets horribly defaced every year.

Zane blinks at him in confusion. "To who? Straight guys?"

"To people. _All people_. Everyone loves you."

Zane shakes his head and shoves him. Or tries to, at least—Riley's just too strong to budge. "Now who's trying to be a charmer…"

Riley blushes. "Well, I'm just glad they were chill with you. Otherwise, I'd have to give them crap about it."

"Do you usually approve of _their_ girlfriends?"

"Yeah. Everyone's just protective. I mean, these guys—they're like brothers to me," Riley says. "My sexuality doesn't bother them. We trust each other, we know how we play together and that's all that really matters…"

Zane smiles at him, face illuminated by the orange streetlights. "I feel like there's a 'but' in there somewhere."

Riley laughs. "Well, it's just that they're very blunt, and uh, shameless."

"Crude?"

"Oh yeah. It's like, once they knew I was gay, I became the go-to source for every question about gay people they'd ever had. Nothing was off-limits. And you wouldn't _believe_ some of the questions I got asked…"

"I think I might have an idea," Zane says lightly, the cold air stinging his insides. "But this was very tame then, tonight. It was fun."

"Marcus really likes you…"

"Yeah. So I guess he's okay with you living with me in the fall? Did you tell him already?"

"What, that I'd be ditching one of my best friends for my boyfriend? Of course. He says that when I leave he's gonna move in with his girlfriend. So it all works out."

"Lucky him," Zane says casually, observing a couple holding hands and giggling as they rush past them. Sloshing through the snow without a care in the world.

Riley lets out a half-laugh and pulls him in, presses a lingering kiss into his hair. "Lucky me," he murmurs.

.

Months pass, and for Zane it's a Ferris wheel of circulating highs and lows—securing a letter of recommendation from a highly esteemed animal science professor, vigorously studying his biochemistry notes until the words start to garble up in his head—though it's wonderful all the same. He's the vice president of Eastern's Pre-Veterinary Club, and spends his weekends volunteering at a local animal shelter. He has his friends, he has his goal, and he has Riley, who splits his time between spring practices and his course load.

So they're both impossibly busy. But they make it work.

On the rare occasions when they have matching free time, Zane steals Riley away to go see a movie, or they bike to Riley's favorite spot at Asher Lake, watching the sailboats weave across the water and ducks toddling in the grass. Taking breaks, however short, from the stresses of high-performance.

And ultimately, word gets out that they're dating.

Riley doesn't shout it from the rooftops. There isn't the rabid media attention because it's the off-season. But people find out just the same. He and Riley will have lunch in the Salamander Athletics Dining Hall, or hole away in one of Wishard's study rooms to sort through their notes. And all it takes is a few blurry cell phone pictures of them trekking across campus being uploaded to Facerange, and word spreads. Gets picked up by the gossip blogs. Catches on.

So when Riley's asked by a young, floppy-haired sportswriter in an interview if the rumors are true, Riley says yes, says that he's happy, and leaves it at that. Allows public speculation to become public knowledge.

(Thomas calls him not long after the first article circulates around, and chortles away in an amused tone. Says that Zane will be the Jessica Simpson to Riley's Tony Romo, and Zane groans and points out how _dated_ and _wrong_ that analogy is, on a variety of levels.)

Overall, there's a sense of indifference from the general public—the gay quarterback having a boyfriend isn't _really_ any more scandalous than the gay quarterback himself—and Riley seems immensely grateful for that. For his part, Zane is too, because he's learned how much Riley has to tiptoe around people, including the fans; watching who he takes pictures with and if they're trying to do something crazy, being mindful of the stalkers, the haters, and the professional autograph seekers.

So it's nice to, _at_ _worst_, be recorded on someone's phone or occasionally stared at. It's just another thing to love about Eastern's progressive campus—the active attempt to be treated like everyone else. He likes the low-key aspect, prefers it that way, and yet…curiosity sometimes gets the best of him.

"I Googled myself today," he tells Riley one evening in early April, as Riley tackles him to the bed and strips off their clothes, pressing their bodies flush against each other.

(They're in Riley's dorm room for once, because Marcus had been dragged downtown by his girlfriend to see some musical. Marcus had said he'd be back in a few hours, and—taking a long, knowing look at the both of them—loudly hollered to "clean up any damn spunk if y'all decide to fuck".)

So now, Riley grins at him teasingly. "I knew you would eventually. So what did you find out about yourself? Anything true?"

"Hardly," Zane snorts. "I'm actually surprised that there _was_ stuff written about me. Though I mostly stuck to the images."

"And?"

Zane laughs. "It's all weird pictures and bad Photoshop and—"

"Flattering, at least?" Riley asks, leisurely kissing his way across Zane's collarbone and down his chest. Hands going everywhere, roaming over his skin.

"You wanna look it up?" Zane gasps, biting his lip and arching forward as Riley nips over the sharp jut of his hipbone.

"Nah," Riley says, crawling back up to capture Zane's lips. "What's the point? It wouldn't compare to the real thing."

Zane smiles and looks away, feeling his face heat up, but Riley takes two fingers and tilts his chin. Kisses him again, tongue mapping the inside of his mouth. And everything else fades.

Because Riley's back to knowing his body a little too well, but Zane wouldn't have it any other way.

.

A few weeks later, Riley invites him to the Athletic Academic Achievement banquet as his guest. Formally dressed up like everyone else, they're surrounded by tables piled high with food and hundreds of athletes, their coaches, and as always, cameras. Most of the other student athletes bring their parents as guests, but of course, most of those parents don't live in Canada.

(Walking with Riley to their table and getting gawked at by a group of soccer players, Zane is briefly reminded that it's his first official event with Riley. As a couple. In _public_.)

They sit with most of the football team, or rather, the players on the football team that managed to keep at least a 3.0 GPA for the year. Marcus keeps getting admonished by his parents for his swearing, Cal laughs with his girlfriend, Noah pulls habitually at his tie—like he wishes he could just take the stupid thing off. Tyson shovels food into his mouth like it's an eating contest. And Riley brushes Zane's knee under the table.

"Thanks for coming tonight," Riley murmurs, leaning in close enough that Noah's father gives them an uncomfortable glance, but doesn't say a word. "It's nice to finally have someone to take to these things. And Ma thinks so too."

"She does, huh? Well, considering that your mother calls once a week, I guess you've had the time to—"

"It's actually daily. She calls _daily_," Riley mutters. "And it's…I turn 21 in like a month, and I tell her that I need a little space, but…you know how insistent she can be."

Zane snickers. "Yeah."

"I don't really mind it, though," Riley adds. "Compared to the way things were before, daily calls aren't so bad. And she's coming around to you, I think."

"She already has."

"Yeah, but I mean…I think she's actually _fond_ of you, now. She's always asking me how you're doing, and stuff."

Zane laughs quietly. "Just as long as _I _don't get phone calls every day, I think we'll be good."

Throughout the dinner, he chats with Riley's various teammates, some of whom he actually considers friends of his own, now. He answers the questions of their parents as politely as he can, and for the most part, they're welcoming of him. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he gets along best with Marcus' mom and dad, who appreciate good manners, clean language, and lively conversation above all else.

At some point, he gets up to get another glass of iced tea, and bumps into Matt Barnes at the lemon bowl. Chest hair as prominent as ever, the older man squints at him before a light bulb seems to go off in his head.

"You're Zane—Riley's boyfriend. I know that, but now that I'm getting a solid look at you…I've seen you before, haven't I?"

"I was at Degrassi with Riley," Zane says. "On the football team when you came to scout him."

"Ah yes, that's right. You were the kicker. Slightly above average. And…you were the boy in the foyer, weren't you? All those years ago?"

It takes Zane a moment to process the inquiry, but when it hits him, he blushes slightly. The boy in the foyer. The boy that Riley rushed out to see after committing to Eastern. The boy Riley _kissed in the middle of the school day_.

(Barnes had been behind the glass. Obviously he'd seen.)

"Yes, that was me," Zane admits.

"My goodness," Barnes says with a laugh, shaking Zane's hand in a real greeting. "And here you are now. I never would've guessed you'd be in it for the long haul. But good for you."

And walking back to his seat, if the conversation he shares with Barnes isn't marginally awkward, the one he shares with Coach Gamby certainly is (_"So this is the illustrious boyfriend, Riley? Nice to see ya, son. You be sure to let Riley concentrate on the game, ya hear? Let's try to keep the tomfoolery to a minimum. We need our winning machine."_).

But in time, Zane figures things will get easier. The round of explanations and justifications will cease.

Someday.

(Possibly.)

After another twenty minutes, the dining winds down, and the guest speaker makes her way to the stage. She's an older woman, an Eastern alum and swimming star from years ago. She talks a little about her life and the value of hard work, as well as the importance of academic success, especially for athletes. And it's around then that Riley's phone vibrates.

He checks the caller ID and raises an eyebrow. Shakes his head.

"Everything okay?" Zane whispers.

"Yeah. Uh…yeah. I'll just be a sec. Text me if I don't make it back in time for the awards ceremony."

"Why wouldn't you—"

But Riley's already rushed off, discretely slipping past rows of tables towards the side door, phone glued to his ear. Zane sighs, and tries to focus back on the speaker.

Marcus has to punch Cal in the ribs for falling asleep. But all things considered, it's a touching speech, and everyone claps enthusiastically at the end. Soon after that, the awards presentation starts up. There's so many names to go through—so it's bound to take a while—but Zane keeps watching the exit, getting nervous as the minutes roll on.

He's about five seconds away from sending Riley a heated text when Riley swiftly reenters the banquet hall, looking slicker than Zane would've given him credit for. Riley doesn't even get a chance to sit back down before his name is called, smiling automatically and rushing to the stage as a certificate and a plaque for outstanding academic achievement are placed in his hands.

"Well?" Zane asks quietly, as Riley takes his seat again, looking dazed.

"That was my mom."

"Again? So now she's up to _two_ calls a day? It's just my opinion, but you might want to consider drawing the line somewhere with her…"

Riley bites the inside of his cheek. "No uh…that was my mom…_and_ my dad."

They're in public and not really supposed to be talking anyway, so Zane only lets out a slight laugh and beams at him incredulously. "He talked to you, for real? How was it?"

"It was good," Riley says, voice a little wobbly with emotion. "A good talk. Ma put him on the phone and he congratulated me about tonight and…he said that he missed me," Riley mumbles, ducking his head and tracing the edge of the table absentmindedly. "And he said that he'd be calling again soon. So…that's something, right?"

"Right," Zane repeats, ever-so-softly. "It's really something."

They continue to watch as the rest of the awards get handed out in comfortable silence. And after a while, Zane rests a hand on Riley's shoulder, squeezing lovingly and not giving a damn about whose delicate sensibilities he offends.

.

They apply to dorm together instead of renting an apartment.

Zane doesn't have a preference, but he knows how convenient it is for Riley to stay on campus (and the tremendous effort it takes for Riley to stumble out of bed in the morning), so it's a case where consistency works best. They end up getting assigned to Wishard Hall for fall and spring…which is where Riley was living the previous year.

(Technically, it's not surprising, since so many athletes are housed at Wishard anyway.)

In the meantime, they spend their summer at Eastern in other dorms, ones that aren't being renovated, both as occupied as ever. Zane takes a few summer classes and puts in some tech hours at a traveling vet clinic. Riley continues to train hard, determined to make the upcoming season his best ever.

And because Wishard has suite-style rooms, they make it a point to get in touch with the other two guys—Chase and Aaron—that they'll be sharing bathroom space with. Neither Aaron nor Chase turn out to be athletes, but they're childhood friends, both architecture majors in their senior years of undergraduate work.

"They're nice guys, but we won't get to see them much. Since they spend so many hours in the studio," Riley says to him at Silver Dan's, stirring his lime water and idly reading an email from Aaron on his phone.

Zane bites off half a curly fry and smirks. "You don't sound too beat up about that."

"Well," Riley says, practically leering at him, "it's not like privacy's a _bad_ thing."

"Point taken."

.

In late July—right before two-a-day football practices start up again—Zane helps Riley move from his summer dorm into their new, shared room at Wishard. They cart Riley's furniture and boxes and bags of things, which isn't that much; the football players who live on campus are constantly relocating, so they tend to keep it light and manageable.

The early move-in is just for athletes starting up fall training, but they have enough time to sneak in Zane's things as well. Pictures of family and friends from back in Toronto. Zane's tall bookcase and overflowing sketchbooks. Riley's Hedley poster and DVD collection of classic movies. Two sets of everyday shoes left in a corner. Two alarm clocks and umbrellas. A flashlight. A printer. The stocked mini fridge. Twin beds pushed together and tightly secured. A soft green comforter.

It becomes a full room. Their full room.

Scuttling down the halls are the other athletes—freshmen and sophomores, mostly—and their parents, wide-eyed and analytical, inspecting everything from the vending machines to the common rooms to the carpet. Cal and Marcus stop by with a few of the new football recruits to say hello; the late arrivals that chose to opt out of staring class in the summer. Riley goes to greet them in the hallway like the team leader he's become, and Zane trails behind him, casually observing.

"Helping everyone get settled in?" Riley asks Marcus and Cal, eying their sweaty forms.

"We had the time," Marcus says with a shrug. "Team bonding, and all that jazz."

"Plus our apartment's pretty quiet right now," Cal adds, "since our girls are still out shopping in Haywood."

"You're both living at The Rio on 21st, right?" Zane confirms, and the men nod smugly. "I've heard it's a pretty sweet place."

"You'll have to stop by," Marcus grins. "I mean, it's no _Wishard_—the paint isn't peeling over there, and no one's running shitfaced down the halls at 2 a.m.—but, you know, it's nice _enough_…"

The four of them chuckle, and two of the new freshmen walk over to them, the shortest of the pair frowning slightly.

"So are you, like, on the team, too?" the shorter one asks Zane, pushing the hair out of his eyes to get a better look. "I didn't see your picture in our packet info, but…"

The taller boy shakes his head in second-hand embarrassment at his teammate. "Jonas, how do you _not know_ about Zane Park? It's been all over the web since April…"

Before Zane can speak, Marcus steps forward, waving his hands. "Right, sorry, we were a little sloppy with the introductions there. Zane here…he's a special tutor. Right, Cal?"

"Yeah," Cal says with a huge grin. "But he's not your tutor, Jonas. He's Riley's _private tutor_, so you shouldn't bother him because he's busy instructing Riley on how to—"

Riley shoves Cal in exasperation. "Neither of you ever changes. Honestly, after all this time, you're still the most—"

"Three years!" Marcus calls, raising up his hands defensively as Riley goes to shove him too.

"Going on four," Cal says. "Ri, don't say you won't miss us when the draft hits and we all split up. We make your ass look _damn good_ on the field, and now you get to come back to your little love nest here, and put that ass to work…"

Zane bites his lip to keep from smiling, watching as Riley chases Marcus and Cal down the hall, their combined laughter reverberating around the walls. "Hey Jonas?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not on the team, and I'm not a tutor. I'm Riley's boyfriend."

"Oh."

"But if you ever have a science question, I could maybe take a look."

"O-okay," Jonas says, looking mortified. "I'll remember that."

"C'mon, bro," the other one says, dragging Jonas away. "Let's go. You can tell your mom that she doesn't have to worry about the quarterback hitting on you anymore."

.

It's a Sunday morning in late September, and Zane knows it's already well past 10 o'clock because of the relentless sunshine that fills up their dorm room. Riley's knee is digging into his side, but it's not in a painful way, so he doesn't push him off. Sundays are the off-days for the football team, which means Riley gets to sleep in as late as he wants…and catch up on a pile of studying when he wakes up.

And Zane is usually good about letting him rest, but only up to a point.

(It's ten in the morning_, _after all.)

He traces his index finger across Riley's skin, flush and warm against the Egyptian cotton. Over his chin, past his sternum, and down further, until he's drawing figure eights just under his navel. Riley huffs out a sleepy breath and tries to swat Zane's hand away.

"Already?" Riley murmurs.

"Good _morning_, all-star."

Riley grumbles into his pillow and flops over onto his stomach, stretches out against the mattress. With a sigh, Zane scoots onto his knees and leans over to run his hands down Riley's back. He can see the large bruise on Riley's hip fading, the edges of the damaged skin green and yellow like the grassy fields behind Wishard Hall.

He frowns slightly.

It always bothers him to see Riley hurt, even as much as he reminds himself that it comes with the territory. He hates it, really. But Riley loves football, and has such a natural talent and work-ethic for it. He's accomplished so much, and can do so much more. To ask him to stop would be to ask him to kill his dream…and Zane would never have _that_. And still…

"That bruise was never as bad as it looked," Riley assures, as if he knows where Zane is staring.

"Well, the game yesterday certainly didn't _help it_," he insists, massaging Riley's skin, starting at the neck.

"No. But we won, though."

"You always do."

Riley chuckles under his hands. "Dude, we're four games into the season. Anything can happen."

"That's right," Zane says, pressing against Riley's shoulders and making him groan in contentment, "anything _can_ happen. You rack up those conference wins again and you'll get a crack at a BCS game. Or even a shot at the championship. Wouldn't that be something…" Zane kneads over a particularly sensitive spot on his back, and Riley undulates beneath him, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the bed sheets. "You're astoundingly capable, you know."

"You too," Riley mumbles against the bed. "And hey—your vet school applications…the deadlines…did you…"

"I turned my last one in on Friday," Zane says, trying to sound self-assured, even as a tiny bit of nervousness prickles over him. "So now I'm stuck waiting until winter to see if I get to interview. After that, final decisions will be made in the spring."

"You'll get into all of them," Riley says, and the genuineness of his tone combined with the absurdity of his statement makes Zane laugh. "Cause you're amazing."

Zane smiles and shakes his head, even though Riley can't see it. Thinks back to Grade 12 and Degrassi's date auction. "Since I'm the best person, like, ever. Right?"

Riley grunts. "Shut up. That wasn't my finest moment."

"But it's the most _romantic_ thing anyone's ever said to me. The depth of your words…"

"Zane, I mean it. Shut up about it."

He bends down to Riley's ear, blows out a hot breath against the shell. "Or what?"

Riley rolls out from under him and leaps off the bed, drags a laughing Zane by his ankles until he can pick him up in his arms. Zane grins against Riley's neck, wrapping his legs around Riley's hips and fitting his arms around his shoulders.

"Really, it's like you bring up these embarrassing things because you _like_ me going after you," Riley says astutely, fingers squeezing his thighs. "It's all about the chase."

"Well, yeah. And the prize," Zane adds, swiping his tongue across Riley's rapid-fire pulse point. "You might not believe me, but that really _is_ the most romantic thing anyone's ever told me."

The corners of Riley's mouth turn up slightly. "Great. Then I have _lots_ of room for improvement in that department. But technically, I said that to Anya, who repeated it to everyone in the cafeteria during the auction. Including you. So that's like, a second-hand complement, or something."

"But now you can say it to my face."

Riley lets out a disbelieving breath, lets their eyes lock. "Really? _Really_? It means that much to you?"

"I'll just be up here waiting…"

Riley tilts his head, his lips twitching as he gives in. "_Fine_. Ugh. You're the best person, like, ever. Okay? And…I love you. And you're going to get into every single vet school you applied to, because you have a crazy-ass GPA and all that work experience with cows and stuff, but you'll decide to go to Eastern because you love it here. And I might get drafted—"

"You _will_ get drafted," Zane corrects sternly, "and then you'll go on to the NFL—"

"And we'll have to do the long-distance thing for a while, which will kind of suck—"

"—except for all the wonderful phone sex—"

"But we'll make it work, and everything's gonna be great. Or…awesome. Or whatever. And…even if _none_ of that happens," Riley says slowly, carefully, brows furrowed together, "even if you end up as a pharmacist and I'm some health counselor…"

"It won't matter," Zane finishes, feeling the strangest kind of realization wash over him. Wash over them both. "Because we'll have each other."

"Yeah," Riley says softly, a wide smile spreading across his face, making his eyes crinkle. It's the brightest expression Zane's ever seen from him, something he'd bottle up and stash away if he could. Outside of their room, Zane can hear the cars circling the streets below, hear the students running down the hall, their voices muffled. The campus stirs all around them, surges and blossoms and teeters with life.

And all the while, in their tiny room, Zane smiles back at Riley, lets out a laugh that carries with it their scattered past and unknown future. He coils his limbs around Riley tighter, hugs him close, and Riley shifts a little on his feet; a sweet, easy sway that's almost like dancing without a tune.

(In five weeks, Anya and Athena will be flying down for a visit, having saved up enough and wanting to see the place they both call home.)

(In twelve weeks, it'll be winter break again, and he and Riley will both be managing their families in Toronto, who are set to finally meet each other. Mr. and Mrs. Park, Mr. and Mrs. Stavros, together under one roof, at the same table, eating dinner, _talking_—a wildcard event if there ever was one.)

(And in several months, they'll know more about where the rest of their lives are headed.)

Life is…

It just is.

Eventually, Zane sighs peacefully and hops down, taking Riley's hand in his own and leading him into the adjoining bathroom. They'll brush their teeth and shower—together, making out or possibly more, since Chase and Aaron are blessedly out of town for the weekend at some regional competition. They'll get dressed, and Zane will ensure that Riley doesn't accidently grab one of his shirts and stretch it out. They'll eat whatever's left in the mini-fridge for lunch, assuming that Riley hasn't already wolfed down all of the takeout. And they'll study, Riley keeping him sane through his physics and genetics homework and Zane making sure Riley doesn't procrastinate on his philosophy readings.

They'll do it all. They'll do it together.

(They'll do just fine.)

.

.


End file.
